The Chouans. With one hundred engravings on wood by Léveillé from drawings by Julien le Blant. Newly translated into English by George Saintsbury

,^11

41

IMP

THE CHOUANS

PUBLISHER'S NOTE.

Seven hundred and eighty copies of this book, as 7uell as Fifty-
two copies on fine Japanese rellnm paper, printed for
England and America combined. Each copy numbered
as issued. Type distributed.

•UF

THE CHOUANS

BY

H. DE BALZAC

WITH ONi: HUNDRED E.XGRA VIXGS ON IVOOH

BY LEVEILLE

FROM DRAWINGS BY JU LI EN LE BI.ANT

[A .

N I-: W L \- 'r R A N S L A 1 E D 1 N T O ]•: N C. L I S H 1! \

GEORGE SAINTS BURY

LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO

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MDCCCXC

ri.^

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CgBg
I Ho

CDf>.2.

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I HAXfF.RY I.ANK.

INTRODUCTION.

VERY much has been written about the life of Honore
de Balzac. It was, however, one of those lives which
are almost uneventful in the ordinary sense. He was
born at Tours on May 20, i 799, of a family of decent station,
but doubtfully entitled to " the particle," and still more doubt-
fully connected with the seventeenth century essayist, Jean
Guez de Balzac. The strong literary vocation which Balzac
felt, was favoured even less than is usually the case by his
family. In spite of all obstacles, however, and in spite also
of long ill-success, which was perfectly well deserved, he
continued for some ten years and more to write, by himself
and in collaboration, but chiefly, if not wholly, under pseudo-
nyms (one of which, " Lord R'hoone," an anagram of Honore,
classes itself pleasantly with O'Neddy and MacKeat), novel
after novel. Ten of these have been fished up and reprinted
as his CEuvres de /eunessr. I have never succeeded in read-
ing more than one of the ten myself, and I never knew any-
one who had read the whole except Mr. Louis Stevenson,
who strongly dissuaded me from resuming my attempt.
At last, the book, a translation of which is now put before
the reader, which was produced by Balzac at the age of
thirty, and which was at first entitled Le Dernier Chotiajt,
attracted attention and showed, less in its descriptions of
adventure than in its picture of the character and manners of
the hero and heroine, where the author's true way led. He
lived for twenty years longer : to produce with unabated

vi INTRODUCTION.

vigour the wonderful series of works which he himself regi-
mented, so to speak, into a vast structure generally entitled
La Coniddie Humaine, filling forty volumes of close print,
subdivided into " Scenes de la Vie Privee," " Scenes de la
Vie Politique," etc., and containing about a hundred separate
stories of all lengths. From first to last of these there is no
failure whatever of the writer's peculiar power, and the last,
Les Parents Pauvres, is in the judgment of those who admire
Balzac most, perhaps the best of all. Almost from the
publication of The Chouans, the author began to be famous,
popular, and well-paid : but despite his astonishing industry,
he was always in pecuniary difficulties, arising in part from
his speculative tastes and his fancy for travelling and for
hric-a-b7'ac, in part also from the costly fashion in which
he composed, rewriting and again rewriting his stories on
the proof-sheets themselves, till the expense of printing
sometimes nearly swallowed the profits of the book. Quite
towards the end of his life he became somewhat more easy
in his circumstances, and a prospect of quieter and happier
days was opened up to him by his marriage with a Polish
lady, Madame Hanska, whom he had long loved. But his
enormous intellectual labour (which was often continued for
days and nights together, with hardly any interruption) had
been too much for him, and he died suddenly on August 20,
1850. His character was not wholly amiable : or rather it
should be said that his intense absorption in his literary
work, his speculations (which took the form, not merely of
stock exchange gambling, but of sinking money in com-
mercial undertakings), and certain wild schemes of what he
called philosophy, which have left considerable mark on his
work, produced either a reality or an appearance of egotism
which was not agreeable. The two most characteristic
anecdotes bearing on this are his gravely demanding and
receiving from the young Theophile Gautier half the pay

INTRODUCTION. vii

which Gautier had received for an essay on Balzac, on the
plea that he (Balzac) had furnished the subject : and the
still better known legend of his saying, " Venons aux choses
reelles : parlons d^Eugdnie Grandet " (his own book), to a
friend in misfortune. In fact, his books were his life: and
he is in them with an entirety nowhere else paralleled.

These books are far too numerous and complex to be
criticised here in detail. Besides the ComMie Humaine and
the CEuvres de Jeutiesse, they include three or four plays
which had no great success, and an exceedingly remarkable
collection of Contes Drolatiques, constructed on the model
of the tale-tellers of the sixteenth century. In these some
judges have been inclined to see work of an almost higher
order, speaking from the purely literary point of view, than
the Comidie : certainly Balzac has nowhere surpassed the
wonderful and terrible story of Le Succube. Indeed, his
short stories are perhaps generally preferable to his long
novels, and La Recherche de I'Absolu, the Chef cTQiuvre
Inconnu (itself a masterpiece). La Fille aux Yeux d'Or, Une
Passion dans le Desert, Stfraphita, La Grande Breleche, and
others, might be more safely recommended to a beginner
desirous of making acquaintance with Balzac, than the
longer and more famous Peau de C/iagrin (an early and
admirable book), Modeste Mignon, Enginic Grandet, Les
Parents Pauvres (though as hinted there are many who rate
La Cousine Bette, the first of the two parts of this, highest
of all), Le Pere Goriot, and others.

It is more suitable in the space which can be here
afforded, to discuss briefly the general characteristics of
Balzac as a writer and as a novelist. His fame and popu-
larity— which for the last decade of his life, and for more
than as long again after his death, were immense, both in
France and in Europe— have somewhat declined of late both
in his own country and in others : and though it is certain

b

viii JNTRODUCriON.

that with competent judges they will always remain high, it
may be doubted whether they will ever with such judges
regain their zenith. As a mere writer, Balzac had a very high
opinion of himself, that is to say, when he had, as he con-
sidered, passed through the novitiate, in which he allowed he
could not write at all : and towards the end of his life, he is
said to have declared himself one of the three best writers
of France. His opinion, even at the time when his vogue
was highest, was never shared by the best critics. His
style, even at its best, gives constant reminders of the
laborious and unnatural process of rewriting and piecing-in
which went to its production. It is, as Sainte-Beuve with
his usual acuteness in such matters remarks, full of repeated
attempts or " shots " at the right phrase, which often go
near, but do not quite hit. It very rarely has that unforced
effect of the right word in the right place, which is the chief
note of the greatest style. It has seldom much music, and
indeed can boast of little attraction apart from the matter
it conveys, and from a certain evidence which is never
absent long, of the author's extraordinary mental vigour, and
of the restless and almost demoniac persistence with which
he kept that vigour at work. But the beauty of mere style
has rarely been claimed for Balzac by his most passionate,
never by his most rational, admirers. What they do claim
for him is that he was, as some of them say, the first and
greatest, as all say, one of the chief students and demon-
strators of human hearts, characters, and manners, as they
live and move and have their being.

That there is a certain, nay, a great amount of truth in
this claim is undeniable.

Vast as is the crowd of personages in the ComMie
Humaine, it is difficult to conceive anyone, at least any-
one whose opinion is of the slightest importance, calling
any of them wooden. Whether that which quickens and

INTRODUCTION. ix

animates them is real human blood and breath, or some
kind of unholy elixir and inspiration of the author's own
devising, is the question between " Balzaciens " and " anti-
Balzaciens." But even the latter do not deny that if the
novelist has not endowed his creations, or has not in-
variably endowed them with actual life, with the universal
unchallengeable humanity of the personages of the greatest
literature, he has, at any rate, galvanized them in a marvellous
manner. The quality in Balzac which draws forth the least
favourable comments has been put in various ways, serious
and epigrammatic. Some one — I do not precisely remem-
ber who it is — has called him " the mo.st scientific observer
that ever existed of a universe that he has himself created."
M. Taine, I think, commends his " beautiful monsters."
A very acute and much undervalued, though unequal critic,
Philarete Chasles, called him before everything a " voyant"
a seer, that is to say, a person who beholds visions rather
than facts. Sainte-Beuve, in a short but very striking
parallel of him with Merimee, points out the absence in
Balzac, and the presence in Merimee, of the sentiment per-
sonnel du ridicule, the exactest translation in meaning, if not
in words, of our "sense of humour." And there is no doubt
that to some critics the limitations insinuated in these
remarks are very well marked indeed. They are least
perceptible in stories where the supernatural comes in, such
as S^rapkita and La Peau de Chagrin, or in stories of
distinctly abnormal life, such as Une Passion dans le Ddsert,
or Le Chef dCEuvre Inconnu. In books like Le Pere
Goriot and La Cousine Bette, it seems to these critics, that,
however wonderful the acuteness with which the author has
pierced to certain springs of human action, he has concen-
trated himself too much on the play of these, and has
exaggerated it out of proportion, and to the neglect of
verisimilitude.

X INTR UD UC TION.

This is, in a somewhat different way, the same charge
as that sometimes brought against Dickens, who is indeed
the nearest analogue to Balzac in any European literature,
different as their modes of procedure appear on the surface.
Both had an extraordinary power of noting particular points
in human manners and character. Both had a still more extra-
ordinary power of elaborating the studies of human beings
which they grounded on these notes : but each allowed his
imagination to get out of hand.

In the book which is the special subject of this introduction
Balzac is not at his full power, but he is perhaps only the
more interesting. Some critics have held that a man never
does more attractive work than the first work in which he
" finds his way," and certainly this is the case with the
English author we have just mentioned. It is not quite the
case with Balzac, but it is to a large extent the case. The
Cliouans is, as a story, by no means impeccable. The author
is terribly long in getting way on him. The hesitations
and calculations of Hulot at the Pilgrim are overdone to
an extraordinary degree. Even when the story is fairly
launched, the long analytic digressions on Mademoiselle de
Verneuil's feelings constantly interfere with it. The be-
setting sin of description of objects, small and great, from
which Balzac never freed himself, and in which a natural
tendency was perhaps aggravated by a corrupt following of
Scott, is very apparent. But (and this is a sure mark of the
great novelist as opposed to the small one) the interest con-
stantly increases, and the last half of the book, though more
clumsily " staged," hardly yields to Dumas himself in story
interest, while it aims at and in part attains a much higher
level of character-drawing in minute lines than Dumas ever
attempts. The figure of Marche-a-Terre, too, is almost a
masterpiece. The meeting and massacre at the Vivetiere,
the adventures of the heroine in d'Orgemont's cellar, the

INTRODUCTION. xi

fate of the unlucky Galope-Chopine, the last scene of all,
may challenge a high, if not the highest rank among their
own class : while, like all Balzac's other efforts in the
romantic vein, they have the additional charm, so rare
in authors of the purely romantic kind, of an attempt at
" analysis " as well.

It is, I say, in the combination of these attempts that the
special charm of Balzac lies to those who dispassionately
seek the secret of greatness in literature. There is nothing
here quite so good as the final scene which gauges Baron
Hulot's degradation, and breaks his wife's heart, in La
Cousine Dette, a scene worth contrasting with the spurious
imitations of it in the modern Naturalist School, as well as
with the still greater examples, to which Balzac could not
reach, supplied by M^rim^e on one side, and by Flaubert
on the other. And it is very important to recognize that
Balzac seems to have had the gift of more general attraction
than Flaubert and Merimee. Putting aside altogether those
writers who have merely admired him because at a certain
time when their own hearts and understandings were wax, it
was the proper thing to admire him, there will always
remain a considerable number of minds to whom the perfec-
tions— more limited in range, more delicate and aristocratic in
kind, more subtle, more literary — of the authors of Carmen
and Madame Bovary will appeal less than the Titanic en-
deavours, the undaunted struggles, the abundant, if plebeian
fertility, of the author of Euginie Gratidet. To attempt to
fight out the battle here would be an impossible attempt, and
might be an undesirable one, for, after all, the three men are
as different in their greatness as Thackeray, Scott, and
Uickens. The attempt to take Balzac at the valuation of the
huge bid put forward by himself in the title La Comddie
Humuine, was fore-doomed to failure, and has failed. It
was early hinted by shrewd judges, and is being more and

xii INTRODUCTION.

more allowed, that his anthropology was somewhat too much
for an age — the peculiar and limited French and European
age of the triumph of bourgeois Liberalism and the July
Monarchy over the still surviving relics of aristocracy —
and too little for all time. He is not an impeccable writer
like Gautier almost always ; an impeccable story-teller like
Dumas at his best ; but he is Balzac : — that is to say, an
example high in degree and unique in kind of the genius
which combines precision and exactitude of observation with
imaginative and creative fertility.

GEORGE SAINTSBURY.

Note or Postscript. — In signing a companion vohime
to the present (a version of the " Chronique de Charles IX.")
I have acknowledged the pleasure which such an exercise in
translation gives as a change from the routine work of
journalism . It is impossible to say that translati?ig Balzac
is quite as amusing as translating Mdrim.de. The latter
belongs to that very small class of accomplished men of letters
who, while there is no lack in thein of the special literary
qualities of their own country, possess in even a greater degree
the literary qualities of all literature. However far a version
of Mdrimde in English may fall short of the original hi
degree, the translator must be a bungler indeed if there is not
some resemblance in kind. With Balzac it is altogether
different. He was never, to his dying day, a master of French
style : and at the date of " The Chouans " he zuas merely
struggling out of his first inability to wrestle with the task of
putting his thoughts into language. The consequence is that
his translator is confronted at once with the most unsatis-
factory and insoluble of all the problems of translation.
Shall he paraphrase, and so smooth away what is characteristic
if awkward in the French f Shall he be faithful, and so

INTRODUCTION. xiii

reproduce what is sometimes ungainly in English ? I have
preferred the latter alternative, and I must abide by it.
Whenever I have been unfaithful, I have been sorry for it.
Once I mistook — a pardonable mistake, especially for a man
whose sight is not good — ^^ orvcve" for " orne," and did not
notice the mistake till too late to correct it. I repent more for
liaving altered ^\h&rx\&, ''cartouche-box" on p. 29, into "knap-
sack" because it seemed to me that the image was thereby
rendered more forcibly. I had no business to improve on the
text, and I think it will be found that I have very rarely
attempted to do so. But if anyone objects to a certain stiffness
in parts of the version, I can only say that it is deliberate,
and that the "prettifying " which might have made it smoother
English, would in my judgment have denaturalized Balzac.
The intermingling of such terms as "parte" and "gate"
" Comte " and " Count" is also, whether judicious or not,
deliberate.

The text of the original is not well printed, and there are
some, though not important, variations in the different editions
which I have consulted. I do not know whether the book has
ever before been Englished : at any rate, I have seen no such
version. To the original there is, I think, only one note, and
that not in the authors editions. I have added a few, which
might, perhaps, have been multiplied with advantage ; and yet
so few readers care for notes in a novel, that probably they
may seem too many.

CHAPTER I.

THK AMBUSH.

IN the early days of the Year Eight, at the beginning of
Vendemiaire, or, to adopt the present calendar, towards
the end of September, i 799, some hundred peasants and a
pretty large number of townsmen, who had left Fougeres in
the morning for Mayenne, were climbing the Pilgrim Hill,
which lies nearly half-way between Eougeres and Ernee, a
little town used by travellers as a halfway-house. The
detachment, divided into groups of unequal strength, pre-
sented a collection of costumes so odd, and included persons
belonging to places and professions so different, that it may
not be useless to describe their outward characteristics, in

B

2 T[iE CHOUANS.

order to lend this history the Hvely colouring so much
prized nowadays, notwithstanding that, as some critics say,
it interferes with the portrayal of sentiments.

Some (and the greater part) of the peasants went bare-
foot, with no garments but a large goatskin which covered
them from neck to knee, and breeches of white linen of
very coarse texture, woven of yarn so rough as to show
the rudeness of the country manufacture. The straight
locks of their long hair mingled so regularly with the goat-
skin, and hid their downcast faces so completely, that the
goatskin itself might have been easily mistaken for their
own, and the poor fellows might, at first sight, have been
confounded with the animals whose spoils served to clothe
them. But before long the spectator would have seen
their eyes flashing through this mat of hair, like dewdrops
in thick herbage ; and their glances, while showing human
intelligence, were better fitted to cause alarm than pleasure.
On their heads they wore dirty bonnets of red wool, like
the Phrygian cap which the Republic then affected as an
emblem of liberty. Every man had on his shoulder a stout
cudgel of knotty oak, from which there hung a long but
slenderly filled wallet of linen. Some had, in addition to
the bonnet, a hat of coarse felt, with wide brims, and adorned
with a parti-coloured woollen fillet surrounding the crown.
Others, entirely dressed in the same linen or canvas of which
the breeches and wallets of the first party were composed,
showed scarcely anything in their costume corresponding to
modern civilization. Their long hair fell on the collar of a
round jacket with little square side pockets — a jacket coming
down no lower than the hips, and forming the distinctive garb
of the peasant of the West. Under the jacket, which was
open, there could be seen a waistcoat of the same material,
with large buttons. Some of them walked in sabots, while
others, out of thrift, carried their shoes in their hands.

THE AMBUSH. 3

This costume, soiled with long wear, grimed with sweat and
dust, and less strikingly peculiar than that first described, had,
from the point of view of history, the advantage of serving
as a transition to the almost costly array of some few who,
scattered here and there amid the troop, shone like flowers.
Indeed, their blue linen breeches, their red or yellow waist-
coats ornamented with two parallel rows of copper buttons,
and shaped like square-cut cuirasses, contrasted as sharply
with the white coats and the goatskins of their companions,
as cornflowers and poppies do with a field of wheat. Some
were shod with the sabots which the Breton peasants know
how to make for their own use. But the great majority
had large hobnailed shoes and coats of very coarse cloth,
cut in that old French style which is still religiously observed
by the peasantry. Their shirt collars were fastened by
silver buttons in the shape of hearts or anchors, and their
wallets seemed much better stocked than those of their com-
panions, not to mention that some finished off their travelling
dress with a flask (doubtless filled with brandy) which hung
by a string to their necks. Among these semi-savages
there appeared some townsfolk, as if to mark the limit of
civilization in these districts. In round or flat hats, and
some of them in caps, with top-boots or shoes surmounted
by gaiters, their costumes were as remarkably different, the
one from the other, as those of the peasants. Some half-
score wore the Republican jacket known as a carmagnole :
others, no doubt well-to-do artisans, were clad in complete
suits of cloth of a uniform colour. The greatest dandies
were distinguished by frocks or riding-coats in green or blue
cloth more or less worn. These persons of distinction wore
boots of every shape, and swished stout canes about with
the air of those who make the best of " Fortune their foe."
Some heads carefully powdered, some queues twisted
smartly enough, indicated the rudimentary care of personal

4 THE CHOUANS.

appearance which a beginning of fortune or of education
sometimes inspires. A looker-on at this group of men,
associated by chance and, as it were, each astonished at
finding himself with the others, might have thought them
the inhabitants of a town driven pell-mell from their homes
by a conflagration. But time and place gave quite a diffe-
rent interest to the crowd. An observer experienced in the
civil discord which then agitated France would have had no
difficulty in distinguishing the small number of citizens on
whom the Republic could count in this assembly, composed
as it was almost entirely of men who four years before had
been in open war against her. One last and striking trait
gave an infallible indication of the discordant sympathies of
the gathering. Only the Republicans showed any sort of
alacrity in their march. For the other members of the
troop, though the disparity of their costume was noticeable
enough, their faces and their bearing exhibited the mono-
tonous air of misfortune. Townsmen and peasants alike,
melancholy marked them all deeply for her own ; their
very silence had a touch of ferocity in it, and they seemed
weighed down by the burden of the same thought — a
thought of fear, no doubt, but one carefully dissembled, for
nothing definite could be read on their countenances. The
sole sign which might indicate a secret arrangement was the
extraordinary slowness of their march. From time to time
some of them, distinguished by rosaries, which hung from
their necks (dangerous as it was to preserve this badge of a
religion suppressed rather than uprooted) shook back their
hair, and lifted their faces with an air of mistrust. At these
moments they stealthily examined the woods, the by-paths,
and the rocks by the roadside, after the fashion of a dog
who snuffs the air, and tries to catch the scent of game.
Then hearing nothing but the monotonous tramp of their
silent companions, they dropped their heads once more, and

THE AMBUSH. 5

resumed their looks of despair, like criminals sent to the
hulks for life and death.

The march of this column towards Mayenne, the motley
elements which composed it, and the difference of sentiment
which it manifested, received a natural enough explanation
from the presence of another party which headed the detach-
ment. Some hundred and fifty regular soldiers marched in
front, armed and carrying their baggage under the command
of a " demi-brigadier." It may be desirable to inform those
who have not personally shared in the drama of the Revo-
lution, that this title replaced that of " colonel," proscribed
by the patriots as too aristocratic. These soldiers belonged
to the depot of a " demi-brigade " of infantry quartered at
Mayenne. In this time of discord the inhabitants of the
West had been wont to call all Republican soldiers " Blues,"
a surname due to the early blue and red uniforms which are
still freshly enough remembered to make description super-
fluous. Now the detachment of Blues was escortingf this
company of men, almost all di.sgusted with their destina-
tion, to Mayenne, where military discipline would promptly
communicate to them the identity of temper, of dress, and
of bearing which at present they lacked so completely.

The column was, in fact, the contingent extracted with
great difficulty from the district of Fougeres, and due by it
in virtue of the levy which the executive Directory of the
French Republic had ordered by virtue of the law of the
tenth Messidor preceding. The Government had asked
for a hundred millions of money and a hundred thousand
men, in order promptly to reinforce its armies, at that time
in process of defeat by the Austrians in Italy, by the
Prussians in Germany, and threatened in Switzerland by
the Russians, to whom Suwarrow gave good hope of
conquering France. The departments of the West, known
as Vendee and Brittany, with part of Lower Normandy,

6 THE CHOUANS.

though pacified three years before by General Hoche's
efiforts after a four years' war, seemed to have grasped at
this moment for beginning the struggle anew. In the face
of so many enemies, the Republic recovered its pristine
energy. The defence of the threatened departments had
been at first provided for by entrusting the matter to the
patriot inhabitants in accordance with one of the clauses of
this law of Messidor. In reality the Government, having
neither men nor money to dispose of at home, evaded the
difficulty by a piece of Parliamentary brag, and having
nothing else to send to the disaffected departments, presented
them with its confidence. It was perhaps also hoped that
the measure, by arming the citizens one against the other,
would stifle the insurrection in its cradle. The wording of
the clause, which led to disastrous reprisals, was this : " free
companies shall be organized in the departments of the
West," an unstatesmanlike arrangement which excited in
the West itself such lively hostility that the Directory
despaired of an easy triumph over it. Therefore, a few days
later, it asked the Assembly to pass special measures in
reference to the scanty contingents leviable in virtue of the
Free Companies clause. So then, a new law introduced a
few days before the date at which this story begins, and
passed on the third complementary day of the Year Seven,
ordained the organization in legions of these levies, weak as
they were. The legions were to bear the names of the
departments of Sarthe, Orne, Mayenne, Ille-et-Vilaine,
Morbihan, Loire-Inferieure, and Maine-et- Loire : but in the
words of the Bill, " being specially employed in fighting the
Chouans, they might on no pretext be moved towards the
frontiers." All which details, tiresome perhaps, but not
generally known, throw light at once on the weakness of the
Directory and on the march of this herd of men conducted
by the Blues. Nor is it perhaps useless to add that these

THE AMBUSH. 7

handsome and patriotic declarations of tiie Directory never
were put in force further than by their insertion in the
Bulletin des Lois. The decrees of the Republic, supported
no longer either by great moral ideas, or by patriotism, or
by terror — the forces which had once given them power —
now created on paper millions of money and legions of men,
whereof not a sou entered the treasury, nor a man the ranks.
The springs of the Revolution had broken down in bungling
hands, and the laws followed events in their application
instead of deciding them.

The departments of Mayenne and of Ille-et-Vilaine were
then under the military command of an old officer who,
calculating on the spot the fittest measures to take, resolved
to try to levy by force the Breton contingents, and especially
that of Fougeres, one of the most formidable centres of
Chouantierie, hoping thereby to weaken the strength of the
threatening districts. This devoted soldier availed himself
of the terms of the law, illusory as they were, to declare his
intention of at once arming and fitting out the " Requi-
sitionaries," and to assert that he had ready for them a
month's pay at the rate promised by the Government to
these irregular troops. Despite the reluctance of the Bretons
at that time to undertake any military service, the scheme
succeeded immediately on the faith of these promises —
succeeded indeed so promptly that the officer took alarm.
But he was an old watch-dog, not easy to catch asleep.
No sooner had he seen a portion of the contingent of the
district come in, than he suspected some secret motive in so
quick a concentration, and his guess that they wished to
procure arms was perhaps not ill justified. So without
waiting for laggards, he took measures for securing, if
possible, his retreat on Alengon, so as to draw near settled
districts, though he knew that the growing disturbance in
the country made the success of his scheme very doubtful.

8 THE CHOUANS.

Therefore keeping, as his instructions bade him, the deepest
silence as to the disasters of the army, and the alarming
news from La Vendue, he had endeavoured on the morning
with which our story begins, to execute a forced march to
Mayenne, where he promised himself that he would interpret
the law at his own discretion, and fill the ranks of his demi-

-» U...11'

brigade with the Breton conscripts. For this word "con-
script," since so famous, had for the first time taken legal
place of the term " requisitionary," given earlier to the
recruits of the Republic. Before quitting Fougeres, the
commandant had secretly (in order not to awake the
suspicion of the conscripts as to the length of the route)
caused his soldiers to provide themselves with ammu-
nition and with rations of bread sufficient for the whole

THE AMBUSH 9

party ; and he was resolved not to halt at the usual resting-
place of Ernee, where, having recovered their first surprise,
his contingent might have opened communication with the
Chouans who were doubtless spread over the neighbouring
country. The sullen silence which prevailed among the
requisitionaries, caught unawares by the old Republican's
device, and the slowness of their march over the hill, excited
vehement distrust in this demi-brigadier, whose name was
Hulot. All the striking points of the sketch we have given,
had attracted his closest attention : so that he proceeded in
silence among his five young officers, who all respected their
chiefs taciturnity. But at the moment when Hulot reached
the crest of the Pilgrim Hill, he turned his head sharply, and
as though instinctively, to glance at the disturbed counte-
nances of the requisitionaries, and was not long in breaking
silence. Indeed, the increasing slackness of the Bretons'
march had already put a distance of some two hundred paces
between them and their escort. Hulot made a peculiar
grimace which was habitual with him.

" What is the matter with these dainty gentlemen ? " cried
he in a loud tone, " I think our conscripts are planting their
stumps instead of stirring them ! "

At these words the officers who were with him turned
with a sudden movement, somewhat resembling the start
with which a sleeping man wakes at a sudden noise. Ser-
geants and corporals did the like ; and the whole company
stopped without having heard the wished-for sound of
" Halt ! " If at first the officers directed their eyes to the
detachment which, like a lengthened tortoise, was slowly
climbing the hill, they — young men whom the defence of
their country had torn with many others from higher
studies, and in whom war had not yet extinguished liberal
tastes — were sufficiently struck with the spectacle beneath
their eyes to leave unanswered a remark of which they did

c

10 THE CHOUANS.

not seize the importance. Tiiough they had come from
Fougeres, whence the tableau which presented itself to their
eyes is also visible, though with the usual differences resulting
from a change in the point of view, they could not help
admiring it for the last time, like dilettanti, who take all
the more pleasure in music the better they know its details.

From the summit of the Pilgrim the traveller sees beneath
his eyes the wide valley of the Couesnon, one of the culmi-
nating points on the horizon being occupied by the town of
Fougeres, the castle of which dominates three or four
important roads from the height which it occupies. This
advantage formerly made it one of the keys of Brittany.
From their position the officers could descry, in all its
extent, a river basin as remarkable for the extraordinary
fertility of its soil as for the varied character of its aspect.
On all sides, mountains of granite rise in a circle, disguising
their ruddy sides under oak-woods and hiding in their slopes
valleys of delicious coolness. These rocky hills present to
the eye a vast circular enclosure, at the bottom of which
there extends a huge expanse of soft meadow, arranged
like an English garden. The multitude of green hedges
surrounding many properties irregular in size, but all of
them well wooded, gives this sheet of green an aspect rare in
France, and it contains in its multiplied contrast of aspect
a wealth of secret beauties lavish enough to influence even
the coldest minds.

At the time we speak of, the landscape was illuminated by
that fleeting splendour with which nature delights sometimes
to heighten the beauty of her everlasting creations. While
the detachment was crossing the valley the rising sun had
slowly dissipated the light white mists which in September
mornings are wont to flit over the fields. At the moment
when the soldiers turned their heads, an invisible hand
seemed to strip the landscape of the last of its veils — veils

THE AMBUSH. ii

of delicate cloud like a shroud of transparent gauze, covering
precious jewels and heightening curiosity as they shine
through it — over the wide horizon which presented itself to
the officers. The sky showed not the faintest cloud to
suggest, by its silver sheen, that the huge blue vault was
the firmament. It seemed rather a silken canopy supported
at irregular intervals by the mountain-tops, and set in the
air to protect the shining mosaic of field and meadow,
stream and woodland. The officers could not weary of
surveying this wide space, so fertile in pastoral beauty.
Some were long before they could prevent their gaze from
wandering among the wonderful maze of thickets bronzed
richly by the yellowing foliage of some tufts of trees, and set
off by the emerald greenness of the intervening lawns.
Others fixed their eyes on the contrast offered by the ruddy
fields, where the buckwheat, already harvested, rose in
tapering sheaves like the stacks of muskets piled by the soldier
where he bivouacs, and divided from each other by other
fields where patches of rye, already past the sickle, showed
their lighter gold. Here and there were a few roofs of sombre
slate, whence rose white smoke. And next the britjht and
silvery slashes made by the tortuous streams of the Couesnon
caught the eye with one of those optical tricks which, without
obvious reason, cast a dreamy vagueness on the mind.

The balmy freshness of the autumn breeze, the strong
odour of the forests, rose like a cloud of incense, and intoxi-
cated the admiring gazers on this lovely country — gazers
who saw with rapture its unknown flowers, its flourishing
vegetation, its verdure equal to that of its neighbour, and in
one way namesake, England. The scene, already worthy
enough of the theatre, was further enlivened by cattle,
while the birds sang and made the whole valley utter a
sweet low melody which vibrated in the air. If the reader's
imaginati<jn will concentrate itself so as fully to conceive the

THE CHOUANS.

rich accidents of liglu and shade, the misty mountain
horizons, the fantastic perspectives which sprang from the
spots where trees were missing, from those where water ran,
from those where coy windings of the landscape faded away ;
if his memory will colour, so to speak, a sketch, as fugitive as
the moment when it was taken .
then those who can taste
such pictures will have an
idea, imperfect it is true,
of the magical scene which
surprised the still sensi-
tive minds of the youthful
officers.

■HiWt*««s^

They could
not help an in-
voluntary emo-
tion of pardon
for the natural

tardiness of the poor men who, as they thought, were
regretfully quitting their dear country to go — perhaps to
die — afar off in a strange land : but with the generous
feeling natural to soldiers they hid their sympathy under a
pretended desire of examining the military positions of the
country. Hulot, however, whom we must call the com-

THE AMBUSH. 13

mandant, to avoid giving him the inelegant name of demi-
brigadier, was one of those warriors who, when danger
presses, are not the men to be caught by the charms of a
landscape, were they those of the Earthly Paradise itself
So he shook his head disapprovingly, and contracted a pair
of thick black eyebrows which gave a harsh cast to his
countenance.

" Why the devil do they not come on ? " he asked a
second time, in a voice deepened by the hardships of war.
" Is there some kind Virgin in the village whose hand they
are squeezing .-'"

" You want to know why ?" answered a voice.

The commandant, hearing sounds like those of the horn
with which the peasants of these valleys summon their
flocks, turned sharply round as though a sword-point had
pricked him, and saw, two paces off, a figure even odder
than any of those whom he was conveying to Mayenne to
serve the Republic. The stranger — a short, stoutly built
man with broad shoulders — showed a head nearly as big as
a bull's, with which it had also other resemblances. Thick
nostrils shortened the nose in appearance to even less than
its real length. The man's blubber lips, pouting over teeth
white as snow, his flapping ears and his red hair made him
seem akin rather to herbivorous animals than to the goodly
Caucasian race. Moreover, the bare head was made still
more remarkable by its complete lack of some other
features of man who has lived in the society of his fellows.
The face, sun-bronzed and with sharp outlines vaguely
suggesting the granite of which the country side consists,
was the only visible part of this singular being's person.
From the neck downwards he was wrapped in a sarrau — a
kind of smock-frock in red linen coarser still than that of
the poorest conscripts' wallets and breeches. This sarrau,
in which an antiquary might have recognized the saga,

14 THE CHOUANS.

saye, or sayon of the Gauls, ended at the waist, being
joined to tight breeches of goatskin by wooden fasten-
ings roughly sculptured, but in part still with the bark on.
These goatskins, or peaux de biqtie in local speech, which
protected his thighs and his legs, preserved no outline of the
human form. Huge wooden shoes hid his feet, while his
hair, long, glistening, and not unlike the nap of his goatskins,
fell on each side of his face, evenly parted and resembling
certain medieeval sculptures still to be seen in cathedrals.
Instead of the knotty stick which the conscripts bore on
their shoulders he carried, resting on his breast like a gun,
a large whip, the lash of which was cunningly plaited, and
seemed twice the length of whiplashes in general. There
was no great difficulty in explaining the sudden apparition of
this strange figure : indeed, at first sight some of the officers
took the stranger for a requisitionary or conscript (the two
words were still used indifferently) who was falling back on
his column, perceiving that it had halted. Still the com-
mandant was much surprised by the man's arrival ; and
though he did not seem in the least alarmed, his brow
clouded. Having scanned the stranger from head to foot,
he repeated in a mechanical fashion and as though pre-
occupied with gloomy ideas, " Yes : why do they not come
on ? do you know, man ? " " The reason," replied his sinister
interlocutor, in an accent which showed that he spoke
French with difficulty, " the reason is," and he pointed his
huge rough hand to Ern^e, " that there is Maine, and here
Brittany ends."

And he smote the ground hard, throwing the heavy
handle of his whip at the commandant's feet. The im-
pression produced on the bystanders by the stranger's
laconic harangue was not unlike that which the beat of a
savage drum might make in the midst of the regular music
of a military band : yet " harangue " is hardly word enough

THE AMBUSH. 15

to express the hatred and the thirst for vengeance which
breathed through his haughty gesture, his short fashion of
speech, and his countenance full of a cold, fierce energy.
The very rudeness of the man's appearance, fashioned as he
was as though by axe-blows, his rugged exterior, the dense
ignorance imprinted on his features, made him resemble
some savage demigod. He kept his seer-like attitude and
seemed like an apparition of the very genius of Brittany
aroused from a three years' sleep, and ready to begin once
more a war where victory never showed herself except
swathed in mourning for both sides.

" Here is a pretty fellow !" said Hulot, speaking to him-
self, "he looks as if he were the spokesman of others who
are about to open a parley in gunshot language."

But when he had muttered these words between his teeth,
the commandant ran his eyes in turn from the man before
him to the landscape, from the landscape to the detachment,
from the detachment to the steep slopes of the road, their
crests shaded by the mighty Breton broom. Then he
brought them back sharply on the stranger, as it were
questioning him mutely before he ended with the brusquely
spoken question, " Whence come you ? "

His eager and piercing eye tried to guess the secrets
hidden under the man's impenetrable countenance, which
in the interval had fallen into the usual sheepish expression
of torpidity that wraps the peasant when not in a state of
excitement.

" From the country of the Gars," answered the man,
quite unperturbed.

" Your name ? "

" Marche-d-Terre."

" Why do you still use your Chouan name in spite of the
law?"

But Marche-a-Terre, as he was pleased to call himself,

i6

THE CHOUANS.

\ \

Stared at the commandant with so utterly truthful an air of
imbecility tliat the soldier thought he really had not under-
stood him.

" Are you one of the Fougeres contingent ? "
To which question Marche-a-Terre answered by one of
those " I don't know's " whose very tone arrests all further
inquiry in despair. He seated himself calmly by the way-
side, drew from his smock some pieces of thin and black

buckwheat cake — a
national food whose
unenticing delights
can be comprehended
of Bretons alone — and
began to eat with a
stolid nonchalance.
He gave the impres-
sion of so complete a
lack of intelligence
that the officers by
turns compared him
as he sat there to one
of the cattle browsing
on the fat pasturage
of the valley, to the savages of America, and to one of the
aborigines of the Cape of Good Hope. Deceived by his
air, the commandant himself was beginning not to listen to
his own doubts, when, prudently giving a last glance at the
man whom he suspected of being the herald of approaching
carnage, he saw his hair, his smock, his goatskins, covered
with thorns, scraps of leaves, splinters of timber and brush-
wood, just as if the Chouan had made a long journey
through dense thickets. He glanced significantly at his adju-
tant Gerard, who was near him, squeezed his hand hard, and
whispered, " We came for wool, and we shall go home shorn."

THE AAfBUSIf. ,7

The officers gazed at each other in silent astonishment.

It may be convenient to digress a little here in order to
communicate the fears of Commandant Hulot to some
homekeeping folk who doubt everything because they see
nothing, and who might even deny the existence of men
like Marche-a-Terre and those peasants of the West whose
behaviour was then so heroic. The word gai^s (pronounced
go) is a waif of Celtic. It has passed from Low Breton into
French, and the word is, of our whole modern vocabulary,
that which contains the oldest memories. The mis was the
chief weapon of the Gaels or Gauls : gaisdc meant " armed ; "
gais " bravery; " gas " force," — comparison with which terms
will show the connection of the word gars with these
words of our ancestors' tongue. The word has a further
analogy with the Latin vir " man ; " the root of virttis
" strength," " courage." This little disquisition may be
excused by its patriotic character : and it may further
serve to rehabilitate in some persons' minds terms such as
gars, garfon, garfonnclte, garce,garcette, which are generally
excluded from common parlance as improper, but which
have a warlike origin, and which will recur here and there
in the course of our history. " 'Tis a brave wench " [garce)
was the somewhat misunderstood praise which Madame de
Stael received in a little village of the Vendomois, where
she spent some days of her exile. Now Brittany is of all
France the district where Gaulish customs have left the
deepest trace. The parts of the province where, even in
our days, the wild life and the superstitious temper of
our rude forefathers may still, so to speak, be taken
red-handed, are called the country of the gars. When
a township is inhabited by a considerable number of wild
men like him who has just appeared on our scene, the
country-folk call them " the gars of such and such a
parish : " and this stereotyped appellation is a kind of

D

1 8 THE CHOUANS.

reward for the fidelity with which these gars strive to
perpetuate the traditions of GauHsh language and manners.
Thus also their life keeps deep traces of the superstitious
beliefs and practices of ancient times. In one place, feudal
customs are still observed. In another, antiquaries find
Druidic monuments still standing. In yet another, the
spirit of modern civilization is aghast at having to make
its way through huge primaeval forests. An inconceivable
ferocity and a bestial obstinacy, found in company with the
most absolute fidelity to an oath : a complete absence of
our laws, our manners, our dress, our new-fangled coinage,
our very language, combined with a patriarchal simplicity of
life, and with heroic virtues, unite in reducing the dwellers
in these resrions below the Mohicans and the Redskins of
North America in the higher intellectual activities, but make
them as noble, as cunning, as full of fortitude as these.
Placed as Brittany is in the centre of Europe, it is a more
curious field of observation than Canada itself Surrounded
by light and heat, whose beneficent influences do not touch
it, the country is like a coal which lies " black-out " and ice-
cold in the midst of a glowing hearth. All the efforts
which some enlightened spirits have made to win this
beautiful part of France over to social life and commercial
prosperity — nay, even the attempts of Government in the
same direction — perish whelmed in the undisturbed bosom
of a population devoted to immemorial use and wont. But
sufficient explanations of this ill-luck are found in the cha-
racter of the soil, still furrowed with ravines, torrents, lakes,
and marshes ; still bristling with hedges — improvised
earth- works, which make a fastness of every field ; destitute
alike of roads and canals ; and finally, in virtue of the genius
of an uneducated population, delivered over to prejudices
whose dangerous nature our history will discover, and
obstinately hostile to new methods of agriculture. The

THE AMBUSH. 19

very picturesque arrangement of the country, the very
superstitions of its inhabitants prevent at once the associa-
tion of individuals and the advantages of comparison and
exchange of ideas. There are no villages in Brittany ; and
the rudely-built structures which are called dwellings are
scattered all over the country. Each family lives as if in a
desert : and the only recognized meetings are the quickly
dissolved congregations which Sunday and other ecclesiastical
festivals bring together at the parish church. These meet-
ings, where there is no exchange of conversation, and which
are dominated by the Rector, the only master whom these rude
spirits admit, last a few hours only. After listening to the
awe-inspiring words of the priest, the peasant goes back for a
whole week to his unwholesome dwelling, which he leaves but
for work, and whither he returns but to sleep. If he receives
a visitor, it is still the Rector, the soul of the country side.
And thus it was that at the voice of such priests, thousands
of men flew at the throat of the Republic, and that these
quarters of Brittany furnished, five years before the date
at which our story begins, whole masses of soldiery for the
first Chouannerie. The brothers Cottereau, bold smugglers,
who gave this war its name, plied their perilous trade be-
tween Laval and Fougeres. But the insurrection in these
districts had no character of nobility. And it may be said
with confidence that if La Vendee made war of brigandage,'
Brittany made brigandage of war. The proscription of the
royal family, the destruction of religion, were to the Chouans
only a pretext for plunder : and the incidents of intestine
strife took some colour from the wild roughness of the
manners of the district. When real defenders of the

' I have done violence to the text here as printed : Si La Vendee fit
un brigandage de la guerre. But the point of the antithesis and the
truth of history seem absolutely to require the supposition of a misprint. —
Translator's Note.

20 IHE CJWUANS.

monarchy came to recruit soldiers among these popula-
tions, equally ignorant and warlike, they tried in vain to
infuse under the white flag some element of sublimity into
the raids which made Chouannerie odious : and the Chouans
remain a memorable instance of the danger of stirring up
the more uncivilized portions of a people. The above-
given description of the first valley which Brittany offers
to the traveller's eye, the picture of the men who made up
the detachment of requisitionaries, the account of the gars
who appeared at the top of Pilgrim Hill — give in miniature
a faithful idea of the province and its inhabitants ; any trained
imagination can, by following these details, conceive the
theatre and the methods of the war ; for its whole elements
are there. At that time the blooming hedges of these lovely
valleys hid invisible foes. Each meadow was a place of
arms : each tree threatened a snare, each willow trunk held
an ambuscade. The field of battle was everywhere. At
each corner gun-barrels lay in wait for the Blues, whom
young girls laughingly enticed under fire, without thinking
themselves guilty of treachery. Nay, they made pilgrimage
with their fathers and brothers to this and that Virgin of
worm-eaten wood to ask at once for suggestion of stratagems
and absolution of sins. The religion, or rather the fetishism,
of these uneducated creatures, robbed murder of all remorse.
Thus, when once the strife was entered on, the whole coun-
try was full of terrors : noise was as alarming as silence ; an
amiable reception as threats ; the family hearth as the high-
way. Treachery itself was convinced of its honesty : and
the Bretons were savages who served God and the king on
the principles of Mohicans on the war-path. But to give a
description, e.xact in all points, of this struggle, the historian
ought to add that no sooner was Hoche's peace arranged,
than the whole country became smiling and friendly. The
very families, who over night had been at each other's throats.

THE AMBUSH. 21

supped the next day without fear of danger under the same
roof.

Hulot had no sooner detected the secret indications of
treachery which Marche-a-Terre's goatskins revealed, than he
became certain of the breach of this same fortunate peace, due
once to the genius of Hoche, and now, as it seemed to him,
impossible to maintain. So then war had revived, and no
doubt would be, after a three years' rest,
more terrible than ever. The revolution,
which had waxed milder since the Ninth
Thermidor, would very likely resume the
character of terror which made it odious to
well-disposed minds. English gold had,
doubtless, as always, helped the internal dis-
cords of France. The Republic, abandoned
by young Bonaparte, who had seemed its
tutelary genius, appeared incapable of resisting
so many enemies, the worst of whom was
showing himself last. Civil war, foretold
already by hundreds of petty risings, assumed
an air of altogether novel gravity when the
Chouans dared to conceive the idea of
attacking so strong an escort. Such ^
were the thoughts which followed one
another (though by no means so succinctly
put) in the mind of Hulot as soon as he seemed to see in
the apparition of Marche-a- Terre a sign of an adroitly laid
ambush. For he alone at once understood the hidden
danger.

The silence following the commandant's prophetic ob-
servation to Gerard, with which we finished our last scene,
gave Hulot an opportunity of recovering his coolness. The
old soldier had nearly staggered. He could not clear his
brow as he thought of being surrounded already by the

2 2 THE CHOUANS.

horrors of a war, whose atrocities cannibals themselves
might haply have refused to approve. Captain Merle and
Adjutant Gerard, his two friends, were at a loss to explain
the alarm, so new to them, which their chief's face showed ;
and they gazed at Marche-a-Terre, who was still placidly
eating his bannocks at the road-side, without being able to
see the least connection between a brute beast of this kind,
and the disquiet of their valiant leader. But Hulot's
countenance soon grew brighter; sorry as he was for the
Republic's ill fortune, he was rejoiced at having to fight
for her, and he cheerfully promised himself not to fall
blindly into the nets of the Chouans, and to outwit the
man, however darkly cunning he might be, whom they did
himself the honour to send against him.

Before, however, making up his mind to any course of
action, he set himself to examine the position in which
his enemies would fain surprise him. When he saw that
the road in the midst of which he was engaged, pas.sed
through a kind of gorge, not, it is true, very deep, but
flanked by woods, and with several by-paths debouching
on it, he once more frowned hard with his black brows, and
then said to his friends in a low voice, full of emotion :

" We are in a pretty wasps'-nest ! "

" But of whom are you afraid ?" asked Gerard.

"Afraid ?" repeated the commandant. "Yes: afraid is
the word. I always have been afraid of being shot like a
dog, as the road turns a wood with no one to cry ' Qui
Vive i

" Bah ! " said Merle, laughing ; " ' Qui vive ? ' itself is a
bad phrase ! "

" Are we then really in danger ? " asked Gerard, as much
surprised at Hulot's coolness as he had been at his passing
fear.

"Hist!" said the commandant, "we are in the wolf's

THE AMBUSH.

23

throat, and as it is as dark there as in a chimney, we had
better light a candle. Luckily," he went on, " we hold the
top of the ridge." He bestowed a forcible epithet upon the
said ridge, and added, " I shall see my way soon, perhaps."
Then, taking the two officers with him, he posted them
round Marche-a-Terre ; but the gars, pre-
tending to think that he was in their way,
rose quickly. " Stay there, rascal ! " cried
Hulot, giving him a push, and making him
fall back on the slope
where he had been sitting.
And from that moment
the demi-brigadier kept
his eye steadily on the
Breton, who seemed quite
indifferent. " Friends,"
said he, speaking low to
the two officers, " it is
time to tell you that the
fat is in the fire down
there at Paris. The
Directory, in conse-
quence of a row in
the Assembly, has muddled
business once more. The pentarchy of pantaloons (the
last word is nearer French at any rate) have lost a good
blade, for Bernadotte will have nothing more to do with
them."

" Who takes his place ? " asked Gerard, eagerly.

" Milet-Mureau, an old dotard. 'Tis an awkward time
for choosing blockheads to steer the ship. Meanwhile,
English signal-rockets are going off round the coast, all
these cockchafers of Vendeans and Chouans are abroad on
the wing : and those who pull the strings of the puppets

our

;£,^/W^

24 THE C HO VANS.

have chosen their time just when we are beaten to our
knees."

" How so?" said Merle.

" Our armies are being beaten on every side," said Hulot,
lowering his voice more and more. " The Chouans have
twice interrupted the post, and I only received my last
despatches and the latest decrees by an express which
Bernadotte sent the moment he quitted the ministry.
Luckily, friends have given me private information of the
mess we are in. Fouche has found out that the tyrant Louis
XV in. has been warned by traitors at Paris to send a chief
to lead his wild ducks at home here. It is thought that
Barras is playing the Republic false. In fine, Pitt and
the princes have sent hither a ci-dcvant, a man full of talent
and vigour, whose hope is to unite Vendeans and Chouans,
and so lower the Republic's crest. The fellow has actually
landed in Morbihan : I learnt it before anyone, and told
our clever ones at Paris. He calls himself the Gars. For all
these cattle," said he, pointing to Marche-a-Terre, " fit them-
selves with names which would give an honest patriot a
stomach-ache if he bore them. Moreover, our man is about
here : and the appearance of this Chouan " (he pointed to
Marche-a-Terre once more) " shows me that he is upon us.
But they don't teach tricks to an old monkey : and you
shall help me to cage my birds in less than no time. I
should be a pretty fool if I let myself be trapped like a
crow by a ci-devant who comes from London to dust our
jackets for us ! "

When they learnt this secret and critical intelligence the
two officers, knowing that their commandant never took
alarm at shadows, assumed the steady mien which soldiers
wear in time of danger when they are of good stuff and
accustomed to look ahead in human affairs. Gerard, whose
post, since suppressed, put him in close relations with

THE AMBUSH. 25

his chief, was about to answer and to inquire -into all the
political news, a part of which had evidently been omitted.
But at a sign from Hulot he refrained, and all three set
themselves to watch Marche-a-Terre. Yet the Chouan did
not exhibit the faintest sign of emotion : though he saw him-
self thus scanned by men as formidable by their wits as by
their bodily strength. The curiosity of the two officers,
new to this kind of warfare, was vividly excited by the
beginning of an affair which seemed likely to have some-
thing of the interest of a romance : and they were on the
point of making jokes on the situation. But at the first
word of the kind that escaped them, Hulot said with a
grave look, " God's thunder, citizens ! don't light your pipes
on the powder barrel. Cheerfulness out of season is as bad
as water poured into a sieve. Gerard, " continued he, lean-
ing towards his adjutant's ear, " come quietly close to this
brigand, and be ready at his first suspicious movement to run
him through the body. For my part, I will take measures
to keep up the conversation, if our unknown friends are
good enough to begin it."

Gerard bowed slightly to intimate obedience, and then
began to observe the chief objects of the valley, which has
been sufficiently described. He seemed to wish to examine
them more attentively, and kept walking up and down and
without ostensible object : but you may be sure that the
landscape was the last thing he looked at. For his part,
Marche-a-Terre gave not a sign of consciousness that the
officer's movements threatened him : from the way in which
he played with his whip-lash you might have thought that
he was fishing in the ditch by the roadside.

While Gerard thus manoeuvred to gain a position in
front of the Chouan, the commandant whispered to Merle :
" Take a sergeant with ten picked men and post them your-
self above us at the spot on the hill-top where the road

E

26 THE CHOUANS.

widens out level, and where you can see a good long stretch
of the way to Ernee ; choose a place where there are no
trees at the roadside, and where the sergeant can overlook
the open country. Let Clef-des-Coeurs be the man : he
has his wits about him. It is no laughing matter : I would
not give a penny for our skins if we do not take all the
advantage we can get."

While Captain Merle executed this order with a prompti-
tude of which he well knew the importance, the com-
mandant shook his right hand to enjoin deep silence on the
soldiers who stood round him, and who were talking at
ease. Another gesture bade them get once more under
arms. As soon as quiet prevailed, he directed his eyes
first to one side of the road and then to the other, listening
with anxious attention, as if he hoped to catch some stifled
noise, some clatter of weapons, or some footfalls preliminary
to the expected trouble. His black and piercing eye
seemed to probe the furthest recesses of the woods ; but as
no symptoms met him there he examined the gravel of the
road after the fashion of savages, trying to discover some
traces of the invisible enemy whose audacity was well
known to him. In despair at seeing nothing to justify his
fears he advanced to the edge of the roadway, and after
carefully climbing its slight risings, paced their tops slowly;
but then he remembered how indispensable his experience
was to the safety of his troops, and descended. His
countenance darkened : for the chiefs of those days always
regretted that they were not able to keep the most dangerous
tasks for themselves. The other ofiicers and the privates,
noticing the absorption of a leader whose disposition they
loved, and whose bravery they knew, perceived that his
extreme care betokened some danger : but as they were
not in a position to appreciate its gravity, they remained
motionless, and, by a sort of instinct, even held their breaths.

THE AMBUSH.

27

Like dogs who would fain make out the drift of the orders —
to them incomprehensible — of a cunning hunter, but who
obey him implicitly, the soldiers gazed by turns at the
valley of the Couesnon, at the woods by the roadside, and
at the stern face of their commander, trying to read their

+L.,.,1I.

impending fate in each. Glance met glance, and even
more than one smile ran from lip to lip.

As Hulot bent his brows Beau-Pied, a young sergeant
who passed for the wit of the company, said in a half
whisper : " Where the devil have we put our foot in it that
an old soldier like Hulot makes such muddy faces at us.-'
he looks like a court-martial ! "

2 8 THE CHOUANS.

But Hulot bent a stern glance on Beau- Pied, and the
due "silence in the ranks" once more prevailed. In the
midst of this solemn hush the laggard steps of the con-
scripts, under whose feet the gravel gave a dull crunch,
distracted vaguely, with its regular pulse, the general
anxiety. Only those can comprehend such an indefinite
feeling, who, in the grip of some cruel expectation, have
during the stilly night felt the heavy beatings of their own
hearts quicken at some sound whose monotonous recurrence
seems to distil terror drop by drop. But the commandant once
more took his place in the midst of the troops, and began
to ask himself " Can I have been deceived ? " He was
beginning to look, with gathering anger flashing from his
eyes, on the calm and stolid figure of Marche-a-Terre, when
a touch of savage irony which he seemed to detect in the
dull eyes of the Chouan urged him not to discontinue his
precautions. At the same moment Captain Merle, after
carrying out Hulot's orders, came up to rejoin him. The
silent actors in this scene, so like a thousand other scenes
which made this war exceptionally dramatic, waited im-
patiently for new incidents, eager to see light thrown on
the dark side of their military situation by the manoeuvres
which might follow.

" We did well, captain," said the commandant, " to set
the few patriots among these requisitionaries at the tail of
the detachment. Take a dozen more stout fellows, put
Sub-lieutenant Lebrun at their head, and lead them at quick
march to the rear. They are to support the patriots who
are there, and to bustle on the whole flock of geese briskly,
so as to bring it up at the double to the height which their
comrades already occupy. I will wait for you."

The captain disappeared in the midst of his men, and
the commandant, looking by, turns at four brave soldiers
whose activity and intelligence were known to him, beckoned

THE AMBUSH. 29

silently to them with a friendly gesture of the fingers, sig-
nifying " Come " : and they came.

" You served with me under Hoche," he said, " when we
brought those brigands who called themselves the ' King's
Huntsmen ' to reason : and you know how they used to
hide themselves in order to pot the Blues ! "

At this encomium on their experience the four soldiers
nodded with a significant grin, exhibiting countenances full
of soldierly heroism, but whose careless indifference an-
nounced that, since the struggle had begun between France
and Europe, they had thought of nothing beyond their
knapsacks behind them and their bayonets in front. Their
lips were contracted as with tight-drawn purse-strings, and
their watchful and curious eyes gazed at their leader.

" Well," continued Hulot, who possessed in perfection the
art of speaking the soldier's highly-coloured language,
" old hands such as we must not let ourselves be caught by
Chouans : and there are Chouans about here, or my name
is not Hulot. You four must beat the two sides of the road
in front. The detachment will go slowly. Keep up well
with it. Try not to lose the number of your mess,' and
do your scouting there smartly."

Then he pointed out to them the most dangerous heights
on the way. They all, by way of thanks, carried the backs
of their hands to the old three-cornered hats, whose tall
brims, rain-beaten and limp with age, slouched on the crown :
and one of them, Larose, a corporal, and well known to
Hulot, made his musket ring, and said, " We will play them
a tune on the rifle, commandant ! "

They set off, two to the right, the others to the left : and
the company saw them disappear on both sides with no
slight anxiety. This feeling was shared by the comman-

' This is a naval rather than a military metaphor : but I do not know
how Thomas Atkins would express descendre la garde. — Translator' s Note.

30 THE CHOUANS.

dant, who had Httle doubt that he was sending them to
certain death. He could hardly help shuddering when the
tops of their hats were no longer visible, while both officers
and men heard the dwindling sound of their steps on the
dry leaves with a feeling all the acuter that it was carefully
veiled. For in war there are situations when the risk of four
men's lives causes more alarm than the thousands of slain
at a battle of Jemmapes. Soldiers' faces have such various
and such rapidly fleeting expressions, that those who would
sketch them are forced to appeal to memories of soldiers,
and to leave peaceable folk to study for themselves their
dramatic countenances, for storms so rich in details as these
could not be described without intolerable tediousness.

Just as the last flash of the four bayonets disappeared
Captain Merle returned, having accomplished the com-
mandant's orders with the speed of lightning. Hulot, with
a few words of command, set the rest of his troops in
fighting order in the middle of the road. Then he bade
them occupy the summit of the Pilgrim, where his scanty
vanguard was posted : but he himself marched last and
backwards, so as to note the slightest change at any point
of the scene which nature had made so beautiful and man
so full of fear. He had reached the spot where Gerard was
mounting guard on Marche-a-Terre, when the Chouan, who
had followed with an apparently careless eye all the com-
mandant's motions, and who was at the moment observing
with unexpected keenness the two soldiers who were busy
in the woods at the right, whistled twice or thrice in such a
manner as to imitate the clear and piercing note of the
screech-owl. Now the three famous smugglers mentioned
above used in the same way to employ at night certain
variations on this hoot in order to interchange intelligence
of ambuscades, of threatening dangers, and of every fact of
importance to them. It was from this that the surname

THE AMBUSH. 31

Chinn, the local word for the owl, was given to them, and
the term, slightly corrupted, served in the first war to
designate those who followed the ways and obeyed the
signals of the brothers. When he heard this suspicious
whistle, the commandant halted, and looked narrowly at
Marche-a-Terre. He pretended to be deceived by the
sheepish air of the Chouan, on purpose to keep him near to
himself, as a barometer to indicate the movements of the
enemy. And therefore he checked the hand of Gerard,
who was about to despatch him. Then he posted two
soldiers a couple of paces from the spy, and in loud
clear tones bade them shoot him at the first signal that
he gave. Yet Marche-a-Terre, in spite of his imminent
danger, did not show any emotion, and the commandant,
who was still observing him, noting his insensibility, said to
Gerard : " The goose does not know his business. 'Tis
never easy to read a Chouan's face, but this fellow has
betrayed himself by wishing to show his pluck. Look you,
Gerard, if he had pretended to be afraid, I should have
taken him for a mere fool. There would have been a pair
of us, and I should have been at my wit's end. Now it is
certain that we shall be attacked. But they may come. I
am ready."

Having said these words in a low voice, and with a
triumphant air, the o\^ soldier rubbed his hands and
glanced slyly at Marche-a-Terre. Then he crossed his
arms on his breast, remained in the middle of the road
between his two favourite officers, and waited for the event
of his dispositions. Tranquil at last as to the result of the
fight, he surveyed his soldiers with a calm countenance.

" There will be a row in a minute," whispered Beau- Pied,
" the commandant is rubbing his hands."

Such a critical situation as that in which Commandant
Hulot and his detachment were placed, is one of those

32 THE CHOUANS.

where life is so literally at stake that men of energy make it
a point of honour to show coolness and presence of mind.
At such moments manhood is put to a last proof. So the
commandant, knowing more of the danger than his officers,
plumed himself all the more on appearing the most tranquil.
By turns inspecting Marche-a-Terre, the road, and the
woods, he awaited, not without anxiety, the sound of a
volley from the Chouans, who, he doubted not, were lurking
like forest-demons around him. His face was impassive.
When all the soldiers' eyes were fixed on his, he slightly
wrinkled his brown cheeks pitted with small-pox, drew up
the right side of his lip, and winked hard, producing a grimace
which his men regularly understood to be a smile. Then
he clapped Gerard's shoulder and said, " Now that we are
quiet, what were you going to say to me ? "
" What new crisis is upon us, commandant ? "
"The thing is not new," answered he, in a low tone.
" The whole of Europe is against us, and this time the cards
are with them. While our Directors are squabbling among
themselves like horses without oats in a stable, and while
their whole administration is going to pieces, they leave
the army without supplies. In Italy we are simply lost !
Yes, my friends, we have evacuated Mantua in consequence
of losses on the Trebia, and Joubert has just lost a battle at
Novi. I only hope Massena may be able to keep the passes
in Switzerland against Suwarrow. We have been driven
in on the Rhine, and the Directory has sent Moreau there.
Will the fellow be able to hold the frontier ? Perhaps ; but
sooner or later the coalition must crush us, and the only
general who could save us is, — the devil knows where, —
down in Egypt. Besides, how could he get back ? England
is mistress of the seas."

"I do not care so much about Bonaparte's absence,
commandant," said the young adjutant Gerard, in whom a

THE AMBUSH.

33

careful education had developed a naturally strong under-
standing. " Do you mean that the Revolution will be arrested
in its course? Ah no! we are not only charged with the
duty of defending the frontiers of France, we have a double
mission. Are we not bound as well to keep alive the

genius of our country, the noble principles of liberty and in-
dependence, the spirit of human reason which our Assemblies
have aroused, and which must advance from time to time ?
France is as a traveller commissioned to carry a torch ; she
holds it in one hand, and defends herself with the other.
But if your news is true, never during ten years have more
folk, anxious to blow the torch out, thronged around us.
Our faith and our country both must be near perishing."

F

34 THE CHOUANS.

"Alas! 'tis true," sighed Commandant Hulot, "our
puppets of Directors have taken good care to quarrel with
all the men who could steer the ship of state. Bernadotte,
Carnot, all, even citizen Talleyrand, have left us. There is
but a single good patriot left — friend Fouche, who keeps
things together by means of the police. That is a man
for you ! It was he who warned me in time of this rising,
and what is more, I am sure we are caught in a trap of some
sort."

" Oh ! " .said Gerard, " if the army has not some finger in
the government, these attorney fellows will put us in a worse
case than before the Revolution. How can such wea.sels
know how to command ? "

" I am always in fear," said Hulot, "of hearing that they
are parleying with the Bourbons. God's thunder ! if they
came to terms, we should be in a pickle here ! "

" No, no, commandant, it will not come to that" said
Gerard, " the army, as you say, will make itself heard, and
unless it speaks according to Pichegru's dictionary, there
is good hope that we shall not have worked and fought
ourselves to death for ten years, only to have planted the
flax ourselves, and let others spin it."

" Why, yes ! " said the commandant, " we have not
changed our coats without its costing us something."

"Well then," said Captain Merle, "let us play the part of ■
good patriots still here, and try to stop communications
between our Chouans and La Vendue. For if they join,
and England lends a hand, why then I will not answer for
the cap of the Republic, one and indivisible."

At this point the owl's hoot, which sounded afar off,
interrupted the conversation. The commandant, more
anxious, scanned Marche-a-Terre anew, but his impassive
countenance gave hardly even a sign of life. The conscripts,
brought up by an officer, stood huddled like a herd

THE AMBUSH. 35

of cattle in the middle of the road, some thirty paces from
the company drawn up in order of battle. Last of all, ten
paces further, were the soldiers and patriots under the
orders of Lieutenant Lebrun. The commandant threw a
glance over his array, resting it finally on the picket which
he had posted in front. Satisfied with his dispositions, he
was just turning round to give the word " March," when he
caught sight of the tricolour cockades of the two soldiers
who were coming back after searching the woods to the left.
Seeing that the scouts on the right had not returned, he
thought of waiting for them.

" Perhaps the bomb is going to burst there," he said to
the two officers, pointing to the wood where his forlorn hope
seemed to be buried.

While the two scouts made a kind of report to him, Hulot
took his eyes off Marche-a-Terre. The Chouan thereupon
set to whistling sharply in such a fashion as to send the
sound to a prodigious distance : and then, before either of
his watchers had been able even to take aim at him, he dealt
them blows with his whip which stretched them on the foot-
path. At the same moment cries, or rather savage howls,
surprised the Republicans : a heavy volley coming from the
wood at the top of the slope where the Chouan had seated
himself, laid seven or eight soldiers low : while Marche-a-
Terre, at whom half-a-dozen useless shots were fired, dis-
appeared in the thicket after climbing the slope like a wild
cat. As he did so his sabots dropped in the ditch and they
could easily see on his feet the stout hobnailed shoes which
were usually worn by the " King's Huntsmen." No sooner
had the Chouans given tongue than the whole of the
conscripts dashed into the wood to the right, like flocks of
birds which take to wing on the approach of a traveller.

" Fire on the rascals ! " cried the commandant.

The company fired, but the conscripts had had the address

36

THE CHOUANS.

to put themselves in safety by setting each man his back to
a tree, and before the muskets could be reloaded they had
vanished.

" Now talk of recruiting departmental legions, eh ?" said
Hulot to Gerard. "A man must be as great
a fool as a Directory to count on levies from
such a country as this. The Assem-
would do better to vote us less,
and give us more in uniforms,
money, and stores."

" These are gentlemen who

like their bannocks better

"" than ammunition

bread," said

Beau-Pied, the wit of the
company.

As he spoke hootings and
shouts of derision from the
Republican troops cried shame
on the deserters : but silence fell again at once, as the
soldiers saw, climbing painfully down the slope, the two
light infantry men whom the commandant had sent to beat
the wood to the right. The less severely wounded of the
two was supporting his comrade, whose blood poured on
the ground, and the two poor fellows had reached the
middle of the descent when Marche-a-Terre showed his

THE AMBUSH. yi

hideous face, and took such good aim at the two Bkies that
he hit them both with the same shot, and they dropped
heavily into the ditch. His great head had no sooner ap-
peared than thirty barrels were raised, but like a figure in a
phantasmagoria he had already disappeared behind the
terrible broom tutts. These incidents, which take so long
in the telling, passed in a moment, and then, again in a
moment, the patriots and the soldiers of the rear-guard
effected a junction with the rest of the escort.

" Forward ! " cried Hulot.

The company made its way quickly to the lofty and bare
spot where the picket had been posted. There the com-
mandant once more set the company in battle array ; but
he could see no further sign of hostility on the Chouans'
part, and thought that the deliverance of the conscripts had
been the only object of the ambuscade.

" I can tell by their shouts," said he to his two friends,
"that there are not many of thern. Let us quicken up.
Perhaps we can gain Ernee without having them upon
us.

The words were heard by a patriot conscript, who left
the ranks and presented himself to Hulot.

" General," said he, " I have served in this war before
as a counter-Chouan. May a man say a word to you .'' "

"'Tis a lawyer: these fellows always think themselves in
court," whispered the commandant into Merle's ear.
" Well, make your speech," said he to the young man of
Fougeres.

" Commandant, the Chouans have no doubt brought
arms for the new recruits they have just gained. Now, if
we budge, they will wait for us at every corner of the wood
and kill us to the last man before we reach Ernee. We
must make a speech, as you say, but it must be with
cartridges. During the skirmish, which will last longer

38 THE CHOUANS.

than you think, one of my comrades will go and fetch the
National Guard and the Free Companies from Fougeres.
Though we are only conscripts you shall see then whether
we are kites and crows at fighting."

" You think there are many of the Chouans then ?"

" Look for yourself, citizen commandant."

He took Hulot to a spot on the plateau where the road-
gravel had been disturbed as if with a rake, and then, after
drawing his attention to this, he led him some way in front
to a by-path where they saw traces of the passage of no
small number of men, for the leaves were trodden right into
the beaten soil.

" These are the Gars of Vitre," said the man of Fougeres.
" They have started to join the men of Lower Normandy."

" What is your name, citizen ?" said Hulot.

" Gudin, commandant."

"Well, Gudin, I make you corporal of your townsfolk.
You seem to be a fellow who can be depended on. Choose
for yourself one of your comrades to send to Fougeres.
And you yourself stay by me. First, go with your requi-
sitionaries and pick up the knapsacks, the guns, and the
uniforms of our poor comrades whom the brigands have
knocked over. You shall not stay here to stand gunshot
without returning it."

So the bold men of Fougeres went to strip the dead, and
the whole company protected them by pouring a steady fire
into the wood, so that the task of stripping was successfully
performed without the loss of a single man.

"These Bretons," said Hulot to Gerard, "will make
famous infantry if they can ever make up their minds to the
pannikin." '

' Gamelle, the joint soup-plate or bowl in which the rations of several
French soldiers were served, and which has something of the traditional
sacredness of the Janissary soup-kettle.^- 7>a«x/a/<7r'5 Note.

THE AMBUSH. 39

Gudin's messenger started at a run by a winding path in
the wood to the left. The soldiers, busy in seeing to their
weapons, made ready for the fight : and the commandant,
after looking them over smilingly, took his station a few
steps in front, with his two favourite officers, and waited
stubbornly for the Chouans to attack. There was again
silence for a while, but it did not last long. Three hundred
Chouans, dressed in a similar fashion to the requisitionaries,
debouched from the woods to the right, and occupied, after
a disorderly fashion, and uttering shouts which were true
wild-beast howls, the breadth of the road in front of the thin
line of Blues. The commandant drew up his men in two
equal divisions, each ten men abreast, placing between the
two his dozen requisitionaries hastily equipped and under his
own immediate command. The little army was guarded on
the wings by two detachments, each twenty-five men strong,
who operated on the two sides of the road under Gerard
and Merle, and whose business it was to take the Chouans
in flank, and prevent them from practising the manoeuvre
called in the country dialect sdgaillcr, that is to say, scattering
themselves about the country, and each man taking up his
own position so as best to shoot at the Blues without e.xposing
himself. In which way of fighting the Republican troops
were at their wits' end where to have their enemies.

These dispositions, which the commandant ordered with
the promptitude suited to the circumstances, inspired the
soldiers with the same confidence that he himself felt, and
the whole body silently marched on the Chouans. At the
end of a few minutes, the interval required to cover the
space between the two forces, a volley at point-blank laid
many low on both sides, but at the same moment the
Republican wings, against which the Chouans had made no
counter-movement, came up on the flank, and by a close and
lively fire spread death and disorder amid the enemy to an

40 THE CHOUANS.

extent which almost equalized the number of the two bodies.
But there was in the character of the Chouans a stubborn
courage which would stand any trial : they budged not a
step, their losses did not make them waver, they closed
up their broken ranks and strove to surround the dark and
steady handful of Blues, which occupied so little space that
it looked like a queen bee in the midst of a swarm. Then
began one of those appalling engagements in which the sound
of gunshot, scarcely heard at all, is replaced by the clatter
of a struggle with the cold steel, in which men fight hand
to hand, and in which with equal courage the victory is
decided simply by numbers. The Chouans would have
carried the day at once if the wings under Merle and Gerard
had not succeeded in raking their rear with more than one
volley. The Blues who composed these wings ought to
have held their position and continued to mark down their
formidable adversaries : but, heated by the sight of the
dangers which the brave detachment ran, completely sur-
rounded as it was by the King's Huntsmen, they flung
themselves madly on the road, bayonet in hand, and for a
moment redressed the balance. Both sides then gave
themselves up to the furious zeal, kindled by a wild and
savage party spirit, which made this war unique. Each
man, heedful of his own danger, kept absolute silence ; and
the whole scene had the grisly coolness of death itself.
Across the silence, broken only by the clash of arms and the
crunching of the gravel, there came nothing else but the dull
heavy groans of those who fell to earth, dying or wounded
to the death. In the midst of the Republicans the requi-
sitionaries defended the commandant, who was busied in
giving counsel and command in all directions, so stoutly that
more than once the regulars cried out, "Well done, recruits ! "
But Hulot, cool and watchful of everything, soon distin-
guished among the Chouans a man who, surrounded like

THE AMBUSH.

41

himself by a few picked followers, seemed to be their

leader. He thought it imperative that he should take a

good look at the officer : but though

again and again he tried in vain to note

his features, the view was always

barred by red bonnets or flapping

hats. He could but per

ceive Marche-a-Terre,

^

\

r

■^^:^'r/>

( --//> z-^^'ii jfll r^ of his chief, repeated his

''"''' ^-^- orders in a harsh tone,

and whose rifle was un-
ceasingly active. The com-
' '■" ' ~ mandant lost his temper

at this continual disappoint-
ment, and, drawing his sword and cheer-
ing on the requisitionaries, charged the thickest of the
Chouans so furiously that he broke through them, and was

G

42 THE CHOUANS

able to catch a glimpse of the chief, whose face was un-
luckily quite hidden by a huge flapped hat bearing the white
cockade. But the stranger, startled by the boldness of the
attack, stepped backwards, throwing up his hat sharply, and
Hulot had the opportunity of taking brief stock of him.
The young leader, whom Hulot could not judge to be more
than five-and-twenty, wore a green cloth shooting coat, and
pistols were thrust in his white sash : his stout shoes were
hobnailed like those of the Chouans, while sporting gaiters
rising to his knees and joining breeches of very coarse duck,
completed a costume which revealed a shape of moderate
height, but slender and well proportioned. Enraged at
seeing the Blues so near him, he slouched his hat and made
at them : but he was immediately surrounded by Marche-a-
Terre and some other Chouans alarmed for his safety. Yet
Hulot thought he could see in the intervals left by the heads
of those who thronged round the young man a broad red
ribbon on a half-opened waistcoat. The commandant's eyes
were attracted for a moment by this Royalist decoration,
then entirely forgotten, but shifted suddenly to the face
which he lost from sight almost as soon, being driven by the
course of the fight to attend to the safety and the movements
of his little force. He thus saw but for a moment a pair of
sparkling eyes whose colour he did not mark, fair hair, and .
features finely cut enough, but sunburnt. He was, however,
particularly struck by the gleam of a bare neck whose
whiteness was enhanced by a black cravat, loose, and care-
lessly tied. The fiery and spirited gestures of the young
chief were soldierly enough, after the fashion of those who
like to see a certain conventional romance in a fight. His
hand, carefully gloved, flourished a sword-blade that flashed
in the sun. His bearing displayed at once elegance and
strength : and his somewhat deliberate excitement, set off
as it was by the charms of youth and by graceful manners.

THE AMBUSH. 43

made the emigrant leader a pleasing type of the French
noblesse, and a sharp contrast with Hiilot, who, at a pace or
two from him, personified in his turn the vigorous Republic
for which the old soldier fought, and whose stern face and blue
uniform, faced with shabby red, the epaulets tarnished and
hanging back over his shoulders, depicted not ill his character
and his hardships.

The young man's air and his not ungraceful affectation
did not escape Hulot, who shouted as he tried to get at
him : " Come, you opera dancer there ! come along and be
thrashed ! "

The royal chief, annoyed at his momentary check, rushed
forward desperately : and no sooner had his men seen him
thus risk himself, than they all flung themselves on the Blues.

But suddenly a clear sweet voice made itself heard above
the battle, " 'Twas here that sainted Lescure died, will you
not avenge him.-*" And at these words of enchantment
the e.xertions of the Chouans became so terrible, that the
Republican soldiers had the greatest trouble in holding
their ground without breaking ranks.

" Had he not been a youngster," said Hulot to himself,
as he retreated step by step, " we should not have been
attacked. Whoever heard of Chouans fighting a pitched
battle .-* but so much the better. We shall not be killed like
dogs along the roadside." Then raising his voice that it
might up-echo along the woods, " Wake up ! children," he
cried, " shall we let ourselves be bothered by brigands ? "

The term by which we have replaced the word which
the valiant commandant actually used is but a weak equiva-
lent : but old hands will know how to restore the true
phrase which certainly has a more soldierly flavour.

"Gerard! Merle!" continued the commandant, "draw
off your men ! form them in column ! fall back ! fire on the
dogs : and let us have done with them!"

44

THE CHOUANS.

But Hulot's order was not easy to execute, for, as he heard
his adversary's voice, the young chief cried : " By St. Anne
of Auray ! hold them fast ! scatter yourselves, my Gars!"

And when the two wings commanded by Merle and
Gerard left the main battle, each handful was followed by a
determined band of Chouans much superior in numbers,
and the stout old goatskins surrounded the regulars on all
sides, shouting anew their sinister and bestial howls.

" Shut up, gentlemen, please,"
said Beau-Pied ; " we can't hear
ourselves being killed."

The joke revived the spirits
of the Blues. Instead
of fighting in a single
position, the Republi-
cans continued their
defence at three
different spots
on the plateau
of the Pilgrim,
and all its
valleys, lately
so peaceful, re-
echoed with
Victory might have remained undecided for
hours, till the fight ceased for want of fighters, for Blues and
Chouans fought with equal bravery and with rage constantly
increasing on both sides, when the faint beat of a drum was
heard afar off, and it was clear from the direction of the
sound that the force which it heralded was crossing the
valley of the Couesnon.

"'Tis the National Guard of Fougeres!" cried Gudin,
loudly ; " Vannier must have met them."

At this cry, which reached the ears of the young Chouan

7^»o<<-t

the fusillade

THE AMBUSH. 45

chief and his fierce aide-de-camp, the Royalists made a back-
ward movement, but it was promptly checked by a roar as
of a wild beast from Marche-a-Terre. After a word of
command or two given by the leader in a low voice and
transmitted in Breton by Marche-a-Terre to the Chouans,
they arranged their retreat with a skill which astonished the
Republicans and even the commandant. At the first word
those in best condition fell into line and showed a stout front,
behind which the wounded men and the rest retired to
load. Then all at once, with the .same agility of which
Marche-a-Terre had before set the example, the wounded
scaled the height which bounded the road on the right, and
were followed by half the remaining Chouans, who, also
climbing it smartly, manned the summit so as to show the
Blues nothing but their bold heads. Once there, they took
the trees for breastwork, and levelled their guns at the
remnant of the escort, who, on Hulot's repeated orders, had
dressed their ranks quickly so as to show on the road itself
a front not less than that of the Chouans still occupying it.
These latter fell back slowly and fought every inch of
ground, shifting so as to put themselves under their com-
rades' fire. As soon as they had reached the ditch, they in
their turn escaladed the slope whose top their fellows held,
and joined them after suffering without flinching the fire of
the Republicans, who were lucky enough to fill the ditch
with dead, though the men on the top of the scarp replied
with a volley quite as deadly. At this moment the Fougeres
National Guard came up at a run to the battle-field, and its
arrival finished the business. The National Guards and
some excited regulars were already crossing the footpath to
plunge into the woods, when the commandant's martial
voice cried to them : " Do you want to have your throats
cut in there ? "

So they rejoined the Republican force which had held the

46 THE CHOUANS.

field, but not without heavy losses. All the old hats were
stuck on the bayonet points, the guns were thrust aloft, and
the soldiers cried with one voice and twice over, " Long live
the Republic !" Even the wounded sitting on the roadsides
shared the enthusiasm, and Hulot squeezed Gerard's hand,
saying : " Eh ! these are something like fellows ! "

Merle was ordered to bury the dead in a ravine by the
roadside ; while other soldiers busied themselves with the
wounded. Carts and horses were requisitioned from the
farms round, and the disabled comrades were softly bedded
in them on the strippings of the dead. But before de-
parting, the Fougeres National Guard handed over to
Hulot a dangerously wounded Chouan. They had taken him
prisoner at the foot of the steep slope by which his comrades
had escaped, and on which he had slipped, betrayed by his
flagging strength.

" Thanks for your prompt action, citizens," said the com-
mandant. " God's thunder ! but for you we should have had
a bad time of it. Take care of yourselves : the war has
begun. Farewell, my brave fellows." Then Hulot turned
to the prisoner : " What is your general's name ? " asked he.

"The Gars."

"Who is that, Marche-a-Terre .?"

" No ! the Gars."

" Where did the Gars come from ?"

At this question the King's Huntsman, his rough fierce
face stricken with pain, kept silence, told his beads and
began to say prayers.

" Of course the Gars is the young ci-devant with the black
cravat ; he was sent by the tyrant and his allies Pitt and
Cobourg ? "

But at these words the Chouan, less well informed than
the commandant, raised his head proudly : " He was sent
by God and the King ! "

THE AMBUSH. 47

He said the words with an energy which exhausted his
small remaining strength. The commandant saw that it
was almost impossible to extract intelligence Trom a dying
man, whose whole bearing showed his blind fanaticism, and
turned his head aside with a frown. Two soldiers, friends
of those whom Marche-a-Terre had so brutally despatched
with his whip on the side of the road (for indeed they lay
dead there) stepped back a little, took aim at the Chouan,
whose steady eyes fell not before the levelled barrels, fired
point-blank at him, and he fell. But when they drew near
to strip the corpse he mustered strength to cry once more
and loudly, " Long live the King ! "

"Oh, yes, sly dog!" said Clef-des-Cceurs, "go and eat
your bannocks at your good Virgin's table. To think of
his shouting ' Long live the tyrant ' in our faces when we
thought him done for ! "

"Here, commandant," said Beau-Pied, "here are the
brigand's papers."

"Hullo!" cried Clef-des-Cceurs again, "do come and
look at this soldier of God with his stomach painted ! "

Hulot and some of the men crowded round the Chouan's
body, now quite naked, and perceived on his breast a kind of
bluish tattoo-mark representing a burning heart, the mark of
initiation of the Brotherhood of the Sacred Heart. Below
the design Hulot could decipher the words "Marie Lambre-
quin," no doubt the Chouan's name. " You see that, Clef-des-
Cceurs ? " said Beau- Pied. " Well, you may guess for a month
of Sundays before you find out the use of this accoutrement."

" What do I know about the Pope's uniforms .'' " replied
Clef-des-Coeurs.

" Wretched pad-the-hoof that you are ! " retorted Beau-
Pied ; " will you never learn .-' don't you see that they have
promised the fellow resurrection, and that he has painted
his belly that he may know himself again .'' "

48 THE CHOUANS.

At this sally, which had a certain ground of fact, Hulot
himself could not help joining in the general laughter. By
this time Merle had finished burying the dead, and the
wounded had been, as best could be done, packed in two
waggons by their comrades. The rest of the soldiers,
forming without orders a double file on each side of the
improvised ambulances, made their way down the side of
the hill which faces Maine, and from which is seen the
valley of the Pilgrim, a rival to that of the Couesnon in
beauty. Hulot, with his two friends Merle and Gerard,
followed his soldiers at an easy pace, hoping to gain Ernee,
where his wounded could be looked after without further
mishap. The fight, though almost forgotten among the
mightier events which were then beginning in France, took
its name from the place where it had occurred, and attracted
some attention, if not elsewhere, in the West, whose in-
habitants, noting with care this new outbreak of hostilities,
observed a change in the way in which the Chouans opened
the new war. Formerly they would never have thought of
attacking detachments of such strength. Hulot conjectured
that the young Royalist he had seen must be the Gars, the
new general sent to France by the Royal Family, who,
after the fashion usual with the Royalist chiefs, concealed
his style and title under one of the nicknames called noms
de guerre. The fact made the commandant not less
thoughtful after his dearly-won victory, than at the moment
when he suspected the ambuscade. He kept turning back
to look at the summit of the Pilgrim which he was leaving
behind, and whence there still came at intervals the muffled
sound of the drums of the National Guard who were de-
scending the valley of the Couesnon just as the Blues were
descending that of the Pilgrim.

" Can either of you," he said suddenly to his two friends,
" guess the Chouans' motive in attacking us ? They are

THE AMBUSH.

49

business-like folk in dealing with gunshots, and I cannot
see what they had to gain in this particular transaction.
They must have lost at least a hundred men : and we," he
added, hitching his right cheek and winking by way of a
smile, "have not lost sixty.^ God's thunder! I do not see
their calculation. The rascals need not
have attacked us unless they liked : we "^-^-^

should have gone along as quietly as

a mailbag, and I

don't see what

good it did them

to make holes in

our poor fellows "

And he pointed

sadly enough at

the two waggon loads of

wounded. " Of course," he added, " it may have been

mere politeness — a kind of 'good day to you!'"

" But, commandant, they carried off our hundred and
fifty recruits," answered Merle.

" The conscripts might have hopped into the woods like
frogs for all the trouble we should have taken to catch
them," said Hulot, " especially after the first volley;" and

H

50 THE CHOUANS.

he repeated, " No ! no ! there is something behind." Then
with yet another turn towards the hill, " There ! " he cried,
" look ! "

Although the officers were now some way from the fatal
plateau, they could easily distinguish Marche-a-Terre and
some Chouans who had occupied it afresh.

"Quick march!" cried Hulot to his men, "stir your
stumps, and wake up Shanks his mare ! are your legs frozen?
have they turned Pitt-and-Cobourg men ? "

The little force began to move briskly at these words,
and the commandant continued to the two officers, " As
for this riddle, friends, which I can't make out, God
grant the answer be not given in musket language at
Ernee. I am much afraid of hearing that the communi-
cation with Mayenne has been cut again by the King's
subjects."

But the problem which curled Commandant Hulot's
moustache was at the same time causing quite as lively
anxiety to the folk he had seen on the top of the Pilgrim.
As soon as the drums of the National Guard died away, and
the Blues were seen to have reached the bottom of the long
descent, Marche-a-Terre sent the owl's cry cheerily out, and
the Chouans reappeared, but in smaller numbers. No
doubt, not a few were busy in looking to the wounded in the
village of the Pilgrim, which lay on the face of the hill look-
ing towards the Couesnon. Two or three leaders of the
" King's Huntsmen " joined Marche-a-Terre, while, a pace
or two away, the young nobleman, seated on a granite
boulder, seemed plunged in various thoughts, excited by the
difficulty which his enterprise already presented. Marche-a-
Terre made a screen with his hand to shade his sight from
the sun's glare, and gazed in a melancholy fashion at the
road which the Republicans were following across the Pilgrim
valley. His eyes, small, black, and piercing, seemed trying

THE AMBUSH. 51

to discover what was passing where the road began to cHmb
again on the horizon of the valley.

" The Blues will intercept the mail ! " said, savagely, one
of the chiefs who was nearest Marche-a-Terre.

" In the name of Saint Anne of Auray." said another,
" why did you make us fight ? To save your own skin ? "

Marche-a-Terre cast a venomous look at the speaker, and
slapped the butt of his heavy rifle on the ground.

"Am I general?" he asked. Then after a pause, "If
you had all fought as I did, not one of those Blues," and he
pointed to the remnant of Hulot's detachment, " would have
escaped, and the coach might have been here now."

" Do you think," said a third, " that they would have even
thought of escorting or stopping it, if we had let them pass
quietly ? You wanted to save your cursed skin, which was
in danger because you did not think the Blues were on the
road. To save his bacon," continued the speaker, turning
to the others, " he bled us, and we shall lose twenty thousand
francs of good money as well ! "

" Bacon yourself! " cried Marche-a-Terre, falling back, and
levelling his rifle at his foe, "■you do not hate the Blues :
you only love the money. You shall die and be damned,
you scoundrel ! For you have not been to confession and
communion this whole year ! "

The insult turned the Chouan pale, and he took aim at
Marche-a-Terre, a dull growl starting from his throat as he
did so ; but the young chief rushed between them, struck
down their weapons with the barrel of his own rifle, and
then asked for an explanation of the quarrel. For the con-
versation had been in Breton, with which he was not very
familiar.

" My Lord Marquis," said Marche-a-Terre, when he had
told him, " it is all the greater shame to find fault with me
in that I left behind Pille-Miche, who will perhaps be able

52 THE C HO VANS.

to save the coach from the thieves' claws after all," and he
pointed to the Blues, who, in the eyes of these faithful ser-
vants of the throne and altar, were all assassins of Louis
XVI., and all robbers as well.

"What!" cried the young man, angrily, "you are linger-
ing here to stop a coach like cowards, when you might have
won the victory in the first fight where I have led you ?
How are we to triumph with such objects as these.'' Are
the defenders of God and the King common marauders ?
By Saint Anne of Auray ! it is the Republic and not the mail
that we make war on. Henceforward, a man who is guilty
of such shameful designs shall be deprived of absolution,
and shall not share in the honours reserved for the King's
brave servants."

A low growl rose from the midst of the band, and it was
easy to see that the chief's new-born authority, always diffi-
cult to establish amongst such undisciplined gangs, was
likely to be compromised. The young man, who had not
missed this demonstration, was searching for some means of
saving the credit of his position, when the silence was broken
by a horse's trot, and all heads turned in the supposed direc-
tion of the new-comer. It was a young lady mounted side-
ways on a small Breton pony. She broke into a gallop,
in order to reach the group of Chouans more quickly, when
she saw the young man in their midst.

" What is the matter ? " said she, looking from men to
leader by turns.

" Can you believe it, madame ? " said he, " they are lying
in wait for the mail from Mayenne, with the intention of
plundering it, when we have just fought a skirmish to
deliver the Gars of Fougeres, with heavy loss, but with-
out having been able to destroy the Blues ! "

" Well ! what harm is there in that ?" said the lady, whose
woman's tact showed her at once the secret of the situation.

THE AMBUSH.

S3

" You have lost men : we can always get plenty more. The
mail brings money, and we can never have enough of that.
We will bury our brave fellows who are dead, and who will
go to heaven : and we will take the money to put into the
pockets of the other brave fellows who are alive. What is
the difficulty ? "

Unanimous smiles showed the approval with which the
Chouans heard this speech.

" Is there nothing in it that brings a blush to your cheek ? "
asked the young man, in a low tone. "Are you so short of
money that you must take it on the highway ? "

" I want it so much, marquis, that I would pledge my heart
for it," said she, with a coquettish smile, " if it were not in
pawn already. But where have you been that you think you
can employ Chouans without giving them plunder now and
then at the Blues' expense ? don't you know the proverb
' thievish as an owl ' ? Remember what a Chouan is ; besides,"

54 THE CHOUANS.

added she, louder, "is not the action just? have not the
Blues taken all the Church's goods, and all our own ? "

A second approving murmur, very different from the
growl with which the Chouans had answered the marquis,
greeted these words.

The young man's brow darkened, and, taking the lady
aside, he said to her with the sprightly vexation of a well-
bred man, " Are those persons coming to the Vivetiere on the
appointed day ? "

"Yes," said she, "all of them ; L'Intime, Grand- Jacques,
and perhaps Ferdinand."

" Then allow me to return thither, for I cannot sanction
such brigandage as this by my presence. Yes, madame, I
use the word brigandage. There is some nobility in being
robbed : but "

" Very well," said she, cutting him short, " I shall have
your share, and I am much obliged to you for handing it over
to me. The additional prize-money will suit me capitally.
My mother has been so slow in sending me supplies, that I
am nearly at my wits' end."

" Farewell ! " cried the marquis, and he was on the point of
vanishing. But the young lady followed him briskly. "Why
will you not stay with me ? " she said with the glance, half-
imperious, half-caressing, by which women who have a hold
over a man know how to express their will.

" Are you not going to rob a coach ? "

" Rob ! " replied she, " what a word ! allow me to explain
to you "

"No: you shall explain nothing," he said, taking her
hands and kissing them with the easy gallantry of a courtier.
And then after a pause, " Listen : if I stay here while the
mail is stopped, our fellows will kill me, for I shall "

" No, you would not attempt to kill them," she said, quickly,
" for they would bind you hand and foot with every respect

THE AMBUSH. 55

due to your rank : and when they had levied on the Re-
pubHcans the contribution necessary for their equipment,
their food, and their powder, they would once more yield
you implicit obedience."

" And yet you would have me command here ? If my life
is necessary to fight for the cause, let me at least keep the
honour of my authority safe. If I retire, I can ignore this
base act. I will come back and join you."

And he made off swiftly, the young lady listening to his
footfalls with obvious vexation. When the rustle of the dry
leaves gradually died away, she remained in perplexity for a
moment. Then she quickly made her way back to the
Chouans, and allowed a brusque expression of contempt to
escape her, saying to Marche-a-Terre, who helped her to dis-
mount, " That young gentleman would like to carry on war
against the Republic with all the regular forms. Ah well !

he will change his mind in a day or two. But how he has

treated me ! " she added to herself, after a pause. She then
took her seat on the rock which had just before served the
marquis as a chair, and silently awaited the arrival of the
coach. She was not one of the least singular symptoms of
the time, this young woman of noble birth, thrown by the
strength of her passions into the struggle of monarchy
against the spirit of the age, and driven by her sentiments
into actions for which she was in a way irresponsible ; as, in-
deed, were many others who were carried away by an
excitement not seldom productive of great deeds. Like her,
many other women played, in these disturbed times, the parts
of heroines or of criminals. The Royalist cause had no more
devoted, no more active servants than these ladies, but no
virago of the party paid the penalty of excess of zeal, or
suffered the pain of situations forbidden to the sex, more
bitterly than this lady, as, sitting on her roadside boulder,
she was forced to accord admiration to the noble disdain and

56 THE CHOUANS.

the inflexible integrity of the young chief. By degrees she
fell into a deep reverie, and many sad memories made her
long for the innocence of her early years, and regret that she
had not fallen a victim to that Revolution whose victorious
progress hands so weak as hers could not arrest.

The coach which had partly been the cause of the Chouan
onslaught had left the little town of Ernee a few moments
before the skirmish begun. Nothing better paints the
condition of a country than the state of its social " plant,"
and, thus considered, this vehicle itself deserves honour-
able mention. Even the Revolution had not been able to
abolish it : indeed, it runs at this very day.' When Turgot
bought up the charter which a company had obtained
under Louis XIV. for the exclusive right of serving pas-
senger traffic all over the kingdom, and when he estab-
lished the new enterprise of the so-called turgotines, the old
coaches of Messieurs de Vousges, Chanteclaire, and the
widow Lacombe were banished to the provinces. One of
these wretched vehicles served the traffic between Mayenne
and Fougeres. Some featherheaded persons had baptized
it antiphrastically a turgotine, either in imitation of Paris or
in ridicule of an innovating minister. It was a ramshackle
cabriolet on two very high wheels, and in its recesses two
pretty stout persons would have had difficulty in ensconcing
themselves. The scanty size of the frail trap forbidding
heavy loads, and the inside of the coachbox being strictly
reserved for the use of the mail, travellers, if they had any
luggage, were obliged to keep it between their legs, already
cramped in a tiny kind of boot shaped like a bellows. Its
original colour and that of its wheels presented an insoluble
riddle to travellers. Two leathern curtains, difficult to draw
despite their length of service, were intended to protect the

' August, 1827. When Balzac, twenty-eight years old, and twenty-eight
years after date, wrote The Chouans at Fougeres itself. — Trans/atoi's Note.

THE AMBUSH. 57

sufferers against wind and rain: and the driver, perched on
a box Hke those of the worst Parisian shandrydans, could not
help joining in the travellers' conversation from his position
between his two-legged and his four-legged victims. The
whole equipage bore a fantastic likeness to a decrepit old man
who has lived through any number of catarrhs and apoplexies,
and from whom death seems yet to hold his hand. As it
travelled it alternately groaned and creaked, lurching by
turns forwards and backwards like a traveller heavy with
sleep, as though it was pulling the other way to the rough
action of two Breton ponies, who dragged it over a suffi-
ciently rugged road. This relic of bygone ages contained
three travellers who, after leaving Ernee, where they had
changed horses, resumed a conversation with the driver
which had been begun before the end of the last stage.

" What do you mean by saying that Chouans have shown
themselves hereabouts ? " said the driver. " The Ernee
people have just told me that Commandant Hulot has not
left Fougeres yet."

" Oh, oh ! friend," said the youngest traveller, " you risk
nothing but your skin. If you had, like me, three hundred
crowns on you, and if you were known for a good patriot,
you would not take things so quietly."

" Anyhow, you don't keep your own secrets," said the
driver, shaking his head.

" Count your sheep, and the wolf will eat them," said the
second traveller ; who, dressed in black, and apparently
some forty years old, seemed to be a rector of the district.
His chin was double, and his rosy complexion was a certain
sign of his ecclesiastical status. But though fat and short,
he showed no lack of agility whenever there was need to
get down from the vehicle, or to get up again.

" Perhaps you are Chouans yourselves ? " said the man
with the three hundred crowns, whose ample goatskin-

I

58 THE CHOUANS.

covered breeches of good cloth, and a clean waistcoat, re-
sembled the garments of some well-to-do farmer. " By
Saint Robespierre's soul ! You shall have a warm reception,
I promise you ! " And his grey eyes travelled from the
priest to the driver, as he pointed to a pair of pistols in
his belt.

" Bretons are not afraid of those things," said the rector,
contemptuously. " Besides, do we look like people who
have designs on your money ? "

Every time the word "money" was mentioned, the driver
became silent, and the rector was sufficiently wide-awake
to suspect that the patriot had no crowns at all, and that
their conductor was in charge of some.

" Are you well loaded to-day, Coupiau ? " said the priest.

" Oh, Monsieur Gudin ! I have nothing worth speaking
of," answered the driver. But the Abbe Gudin, consider-
ing the countenances of the patriot and Coupiau, perceived
that they were equally undisturbed at the answer.

" So much the better for you," retorted the patriot, " I can
then take my own means to protect my own property in
case of ill fortune."

But Coupiau rebelled at this cool announcement as to
taking the law into the patriot's own hands, and answered
roughly :

" I am master in my coach, and provided I drive
you "

" Are you a patriot, or are you a Chouan ? " said his
opponent, interrupting him sharply.

" I am neither one nor the other," replied Coupiau. " I
am a postilion : and what is more, I am a Breton, therefore
I fear neither the Blues nor the gentlemen."

" The gentlemen of the road, you mean," sneered the
patriot.

" Nay, they only take back what has been taken from

THE AMBUSH. 59

them," said the rector, quickly : and the two travellers
stared each other straight in the face, to speak vernacularly.
But there was in the interior of the coach a third passenger,
who, during this altercation, observed the deepest silence,
neither the driver, nor the patriot, nor even Gudin paying
the least attention to such a dummy. Indeed, he was one
of those unsociable and impracticable travellers who journey
like a calf, carried unresistingly with its legs tied to the
nearest market, who begin by occupying at least their full
legal room, and end by lolling asleep, without any false
modesty, on their neighbours' shoulders. The patriot,
Gudin, and the driver had therefore left the man to him-
self on the strength of his sleep, after perceiving that it was
useless to talk to one whose stony countenance indicated a
life passed in measuring out yards of linen, and an intelli-
gence busied only in selling them as much as possible over
cost price. A fat little man, curled up in his corner, he
from time to time opened his china blue eyes and rested
them on each speaker in turn during the discussion, with
expressions of alarm, doubt, and mistrust. But he seemed
only to be afraid of his fellow-travellers, and to care little
for the Chouans ; while when he looked at the driver it was
as though one freemason looked at another. At this moment
the firing on the Pilgrim began. Coupiau, with a startled
air, pulled up his horses.

" Oh, oh ! " said the priest, who seemed to know what
he was talking about, " that means hard fighting, and
plenty of men at it."

" Yes, Monsieur Gudin. But the puzzle is who will
win ? " said Coupiau ; and this time all faces seemed
equally anxious.

" Let us put up the coach," said the patriot, " at the inn
over there, and hide it till we know the result of the battle."

This seemed such prudent advice that Coupiau yielded to

6o

THE CHOUANS.

it, and the patriot helped the driver to stow tlie coach away
from all eyes, behind a faggot stack. But the supposed
priest seized an opportunity of saying to Coupiau :
" Has he really got money ?"

" Eh ! Monsieur Gudin, if what he has were in your
Reverence's pockets, they would not be heavy."

The Republicans, in their hurry to gain Ern^e, passed in
front of the inn without halting ; and at the sound of their
march Gudin and the innkeeper, urged by curiosity, came
out of the yard gate to look at them. All of a sudden the
plump priest ran to a soldier, who was somewhat behind.

'' What, Gudin ! " he said, " are you going with the Blues,
you obstinate boy ! what are you thinking of ? "

THE AMBUSH. 6i

. "Yes, uncle," answered the corporal,"! have sworn to
defend France."

" But, miserable man, you are risking your soul ! "
said the uncle, trying to arouse in his nephew those
religious sentiments which are so strong in a Breton's
heart.

" Uncle, if the King had taken the head of the army him-
self, I don't say but "

" Who is talking of the King, silly boy ? will your
Republic give you a fat living ? It has upset everything.
What career do you expect ? Stay with us ; we shall win
sooner or later, and you shall have a counsellor's place in
some parliament or other."

" A parliament ! " cried Gudin, scornfully. " Good-bye,
uncle."

" You shall not have three louis' worth from me," said the
angry uncle ; " I will disinherit you ! "

" Thanks ! " said the Republican, and they parted.

The fumes of some cider with which the patriot had
regaled Coupiau while the little troop passed, had suc-
ceeded in muddling the driver's brains : but he started up
joyfully when the innkeeper, after learning the result of the
struggle, announced that the Blues had got the better. He
set off once more with his coach, and the vehicle was not
long in showing itself at the bottom of the Pilgrim valley,
where, like a piece of wreckage floating after a storm, it
could easily be seen from the high ground, both of Maine
and Brittany.

Hulot, as he reached the top of a rising ground which
the Blues were climbing, and whence the Pilgrim was still
visible in the distance, turned back to see whether the
Chouans were still there ; and the sun flashing on their
gun-barrels, showed them to him like dots of light. As he
threw a last look over the valley which he was just leaving

63

THE C HO VANS.

for that of Ernee, he thought he could see Coupiau's coach
and horses on the high road.

"Is not that the Mayenne coach?" he asked his two
friends ; and the officers, gazing at the old turgotine, re-
cognized it easily.

" Well ! " said Hulot, " why did we not
meet it ? " They looked at each other

silently. " Another puz-
zle ! " cried the com-
mandant, " but I think I begin to understand."

At that moment Marche-a-Terre, who also knew the
turgotine well, signalled it to his comrades, and then shouts
of general joy woke the strange young lady from her reverie.
She came forward, and saw the vehicle bowling along with
fatal swiftness from the other side of the Pilgrim. The
unlucky turgotine soon reached the plateau, and the Chouans,
who had hid themselves anew, pounced on their prey with
greedy haste. The silent traveller slipped to the coach
floor and shrunk out of sight, trying to look like a parcel
of goods.

THE AMBUSH. 63

" Aha ! " cried Coupiau from his box, pointing at his
peasant passenger. " You have scented this patriot, have
you ? He has a bag full of gold."

But the Chouans greeted his words with a roar of laughter,
and shouted " Pille-Miche! Pille-Miche! Pille-Miche ! "

In the midst of the hilarity which Pille-Miche himself, as
it were, echoed, Coupiau climbed shamefacedly from his
box. But when the famous Cibot, nicknamed Pille-Miche,
helped his neighbour to get down, a respectful murmur was
raised. " 'Tis Abbe Gudin," cried several, and at this
honoured name every hat went off, the Chouans bent the
knee before the priest and begged his blessing, which he
gave them with solemnity.

" He would out-wit Saint Peter himself, and filch the
keys of Paradise!" said the rector, clapping Pille-Miche on
the shoulder. " But for him the Blues would have inter-
cepted us."

But then, seeing the young lady, the Abbe Gudin went to
talk to her a few paces apart. Marche-a-Terre, who had
promptly opened the box of the cabriolet, discovered with
savage glee a bag whose shape promised rouleaux of gold.
He did not waste much time in making the division, and
each Chouan received the part that fell to him with such
exactitude, that the partition did not excite the least quarrel.
Then he came forward to the young lady and the priest,
offering them about six thousand francs.

" May I take this with a safe conscience, Monsieur
Gudin ? " said she, feeling in need of some approval to
support her.

" Why, of course, madame ! Did not the Church formerly
approve the confiscation of the Protestants' goods .'' Much
more should she approve it in the case of the Revolutionists
who renounce God, destroy chapels, and persecute religion."
And he added example to precept by accepting without the

64 THE CHOUANS.

least scruple the new kind of tithe which Marche-a-Terre
offered him. " Besides," said he, " I can now devote all
my goods to the defence of God and the King. My nephew
has gone off with the Blues."

Meanwhile, Coupiau was bewailing his fate, and declaring
that he was a ruined man.

" Come with us," said Marche-a-Terre, " you shall have
your share."

" But they will think that I have let myself be robbed on
purpose, if I return without any violence having been offered
me.

" Oh, is that all ? " said Marche-a-Terre.

He gave the word, and a volley riddled the turgotine.
At this sudden discharge there came from the old coach so
lamentable a howl that the Chouans, naturally superstitious,
started back with fright. But Marche-a-Terre had caught
sight of the pallid face of the silent passenger rising from,
and then falling back into, a corner of the coach body.

" There is still a fowl in your coop," he whispered to
Coupiau, and Pille-Miche, who understood the remark,
winked knowingly.

" Yes," said the driver, " but I make it a condition of my
joining you that you shall let me take the good man safe and
sound to Fougeres. I swore to do so by the Holy Saint
of Auray."

" Who is he ? " asked Pille-Miche.

" I cannot tell you," answered Coupiau.

" Let him alone," said Marche-a-Terre, jogging Pille-
Miche's elbow, " he has sworn by Saint Anne of Auray, and
he must keep his promise. But," continued the Chouan,
addressing Coupiau, " do not you go down the hill too fast,
we will catch you up on business. I want to see your
passenger's phiz, and then we will give him a passport."

At that moment a horse's gallop was heard, the sound

THE AMBUSH. 65

neariiig rapidly from the Pilgrim side : and soon the young
chief appeared. The lady hastily concealed - the bag she
held in her hand.

" You need have no scruple in keeping that money," said
the young man, drawing her arm forward again. " Here is
a letter from your mother which I found among those waiting
for me at the Vivetiere." He looked by turns at the Chouans
who were disappearing in the woods and the coach which
was descending the valley of the Couesnon, and aflded, " For
all the haste I made, I did not come up in time. Heaven
grant I may be deceived in my su.spicions."

"It is my poor mother's money!" cried the lady, after
opening the letter, the first lines of which drew the excla-
mation from her. There was a sound of stifled lauijhter
from the woods, and even the young chief could not help
laughing as he saw her clutching the bag containing her own
share of the plunder of her own money. Indeed, she began
to laugh herself.

" Well, marquis," said she to the chief, " God be
praised ! At any rate I come off blameless this time."

" Will you never be serious, not even in remorse ? " said
the young man.

She blushed and looked at the marquis with an air so
truly penitent that it disarmed him. The abbe politely,
but with a rather doubtful countenance, restored the tithe
which he had just accepted, and then followed the chief,
who was making his way to the by-path by which he had
come. Before joining them the young lady made a sign to
Marche-a- Terre, who came up to her.

"Go and take up your position in front of Mortagne,"
she said, in a low voice. " I know that the Blues are going
to send almost immediately a great sum in cash to Alen9on to
defray the expenses of preparing for war. If I give up to-
day's booty to our comrades, it is on condition that they take

K

66 THE CHOUANS.

care to make up my loss. But above all things take care
that the Gars knows nothing of the object of this expedition :
he would very likely oppose it. If things go wrong, I will
appease him."

" Madame," said the marquis, whose horse she mounted
behind him, giving her own to the abbe, " my friends at Paris
write to bid us look to ourselves, for the Republic will try
to fight us underhand, and by trickery."

" They might do worse," said she. " The rascals are
clever. I shall be able to take a part in the war, and find
opponents of my own stamp."

" Not a doubt of it," cried the marquis. " Pichegru bids
me be very cautious and circumspect in making acquaintances
of every kind. The Republic does me the honour of thinking
me more dangerous than all the Vendeans put together, and
counts on my foibles to get hold of me."

" Would you distrust me ? " she said, patting his heart with
the hand by which she clung to him.

" If I did, would you be there, madame ? " answered he,
and turned towards her his forehead, which she kissed.

" Then," said the abbe, " we have more to fear from
Fouche's police than from the battalions of mobiles, and the
Anti-Chouans ? "

" Exactly, your reverence."

" Aha ! " said the lady, " Fouche is going to send women
against you, is he ? I shall be ready for them," she added,
in a voice deeper than usual, and after a slight pause.

Some three or four gunshots off from the waste plateau
which the leaders were now leaving, there was passing at
the moment one of those scenes which, for some time to
come, became not uncommon on the highways. On the
outskirts of the little village of the Pilgrim, Pille-Miche and
Marche-a-Terre had once more stopped the coach at a spot
where the road dipped. Coupiau had left his box after a

THE AMBUSH.

67

slight resistance ; and the silent passenger, extracted from
his hiding-place by the two Chouans, was on bis knees in a
broom-thicket.

" Who are you ? " asked Marche-a-Terre, in a sinister tone.

The traveller held his
peace till Pille-Miche
recommenced his exami-
nation, with a blow from
the butt of his gun.

I am," he said,
glancing at Coupiau,
" Jacques Pinaud, a poor
linen merchant." But
Coupiau, who did not

7,^^/«-t-

think that he broke his word by so doing, shook his head.
The gesture enlightened Pille-Miche, who took aim at the
traveller, while Marche-a-Terre laid before him in plain
terms this alarming ultimatum :

" You are too fat for a poor man with a poor man's cares.

68 THE C HO VANS.

If you give us the trouble of asking your real name once
more, my friend Pille-Miche here will earn the esteem and
gratitude of your heirs by one little gunshot. Who are
you ? " he added, after a brief interval.

" I am d'Orgemont, of Fougeres."

" Aha ! " cried the Chouans.

" / did not tell your name, M. d'Orgemont," said Coupiau.
" I call the Holy Virgin to witness that I defended
you bravely."

"As you are Monsietir d'Orgemont, of Fougeres," went
on Marche-a-Terre, with a mock-respectful air, "you shall
be let go quite quietly. But as you are neither a good
Cnouan, nor a true Blue (though you did buy the estates of
Juvigny Abbey), you shall pay us," said the Chouan, in the
tone of a man who is counting up his comrades, " three
hundred crowns of six francs each as a ransom. That is
not too much to pay for the privilege of being neutral."

" Three hundred crowns of six francs ! " repeated the
luckless banker, Pille-Miche, and Coupiau in chorus, but
each in very different tones.

" Alas ! my dear sir," said d'Orgemont, " I am a ruined
man. The forced loan of one hundred millions levied by
this devilish Republic, which assesses me at terrible rates,
has drained me dry."

" And pray, how much did the Republic ask of you ? "

" A thousand crowns, dear sir," said the banker, in a
lamentable tone, hoping to be let off something.

" If the Republic borrows such large sums from you, and
forces you to pay them, you must see that your interest
lies with us, whose government is less expensive. Do you
mean to say that three hundred crowns is too much to pay for
your skin ? "

" But where am 1 to get them .■" "

"Out of your strong-box," said Pille-Miche, "and take

THE AMBUSH.

69

care your crowns are not clipped, or we will clip your nails
in the fire for you."

" But where am I to pay them ? " asked d'Orgemont.

" Your country house at Fougeres is close to the farm of
Gibarry, where dwells my cousin Galope-Chopine, otherwise
called Long Cibot. You shall pay them to him," said
Pille-Miche.

" But that is not business," said d'Orgemont.

+L.,.,II.

7.t^i^'^^~

" What do we care for that ? " replied Marche-a-Terre.
" Remember that if the crowns are not paid to Galope-Chopine
in fifteen days' time, we will pay you a little visit which will
cure you of gout if you have got it in your feet. As for
you, Coupiau," continued he, turning to the conductor,
"your name henceforth shall be Mene-a-Bien." And with
these words the two Chouans departed, and the traveller
climbed up again into the coach, which Coupiau, whipping
up his steeds, drove rapidly toward Fougeres.

" If you had been armed," said Coupiau, " we might have
made a little better fight of it."

70 THE CHOUANS.

" Silly fellow," answered d'Orgemont, " I have got ten
thousand francs there," and he pointed to his great shoes.
"Is it worth fighting when one has such a sum on one as
that ? "

Mene-a-Bien scratched his ear and looked backwards,
but all trace of his new friends had disappeared.

Hulot and his soldiers halted at Ernee to deposit the
wounded in the hospital of the little town : and then, with-
out any further inconvenient incident interrupting the march
of the Republican force, made their way to Mayenne. There
the commandant was able next day to put an end to his
doubts about the progress of the mail : for the townsfolk
received news of the robbery of the coach.

A few days later the authorities brought into Mayenne
numbers of patriot conscripts, sufficient to enable Hulot to
fill up the ranks of his demi-brigade. But there soon fol-
lowed disquieting reports as to the insurrection. There
was complete revolt at every point where, in the last war,
the Chouans and Vendeans had established the principal
centres of their outbreak. In Brittany, the Royalists had
seized Pontorson, so as to open communications with the
sea. They had taken the little town of Saint James
between Pontorson and Fougeres, and seemed disposed to
make it for the time their place of arms, a headquarters of
their magazines and of their operations, from which without
danger they could correspond both with Normandy and
Morbihan. The inferior leaders were scouring these dis-
tricts with the view of exciting the partisans of monarchy,
and arranging if possible a systematic effort. These machi-
nations were reported at the same time as news from La
Vendee, where similar intrigues were stirring up the country,
under the direction of four famous leaders, the Abbe
Vernal, the Comte de Fontaine, M. de Chatillon, and
M. Suzannet. The Chevalier de Valois, the Marquis

THE AMBUSH. 71

d'Esgrignon, and the Troisvilles acted, it was said, as their
agents in the department of the Orne. But the real chief
of the extensive scheme which was unfolding itself, slowly
but in an alarming fashion, was " the Gars," a nickname
given by the Chouans to the Marquis de Montauran as
soon as he had landed.

The information sent to the Government by Hulot
turned out correct in every particular. The authority of
the chief sent from abroad had been at once acknowledged.
Indeed, the marquis was acquiring sufficient influence over
the Chouans to enable him to give them a glimmering of
the true objects of the war, and to persuade them that the
excesses of which they had been guilty were tarnishing
the noble cause to which they devoted themselves. The
bold temper, the courage, the coolness, the ability of this
young lord revived the hopes of the Republic's enemies,
and administered so lively an impulse to the gloomy fanati-
cism of the district, that even lukewarm partisans laboured
to bring about results decisive in favour of the stricken
monarchy. Meanwhile, Hulot received no answer to the
repeated demands and reports which he kept sending to
Paris, and this astounding silence boded beyond doubt
some new crisis in the fortunes of the Republic.

" Can it be now," said the old chief to his friends, " with
the Government as it is with men who are dunned for
money .'' do they put all demands in the waste-paper
basket .'' "

But before long there spread the rumour of the return,
as if by enchantment, of General Bonaparte, and of the
events of the i8th Brumaire, and the military commanders
in the West were not slow to understand the silence of the
ministers. Nevertheless, these commanders were only the
more impatient to get rid of the responsibility which
weighed on them, and felt a lively curiosity to know what

72 THE CHOUANS.

measures the new Government would take. When they
learnt that General Bonaparte had been appointed first
consul of the Republic, the soldiers felt keen pleasure :
seeing for the first time one of their own men promoted to
the management of affairs. All France, which idolized the
young general, trembled with hope : and the national
energy revived. The capital, weary of dulness and gloom,
gave itself up to the festivals and amusements of which it
had so long been deprived. The earlier acts of the consu-
late disappointed no expectations, and Freedom felt no
qualms. Soon the First Consul addressed a proclamation
to the inhabitants of the West, one of those eloquent allocu-
tions directed to the masses which Bonaparte had, so to
say, invented, and which produced in those days of prodi-
gious patriotism effects altogether miraculous. His voice
echoed through the world like that of a prophet : for as yet
no one of these manifestoes had failed to be confirmed by
victory. Thus it ran :

" Dwellp:rs in the West,

" For the second time an impious war has set your
departments in a flame.

" The authors of these troubles are traitors, who have
sold themselves to the English, or brigands who seek in civil
disorder nothing but occasion and immunity for their crimes.

" To such men Government can neither show clemency,
nor even make a declaration of its own principles.

" But there are some citizens still dear to their country
who have been seduced by the artifices of these men, and
these citizens deserve enlightenment and the communication
of the truth.

" Some unjust laws have been decreed and put in execu-
tion : some arbitrary acts have disturbed the citizens' sense
of personal safety and their liberty of conscience ; every-

THE AMBUSH.

73

where the rash insertion of
has done harm to patriots :
of social order have
" The consuls
known that, freedom
ing been decreed by
the law of the 1 1 th
III., which grants

names in the list of emigrants
in short, the great principles
been violated,
therefore make
of worship hav-
the Constitution,
Prairial, year
to all citizens the
use of edifices
intended for re-
igious worship,
will be put in
force.

tt-i^i^

+LJ.

" The Government will show mercy : it will extend to
the repentant an entire and absolute indemnity. But it

74 THE CHOUANS.

will strike down all those who after this announcement dare
to continue resistance to the sovereignty of the people. "

"Quite paternal, is it not?" said Hulot, after this
consular allocution had been publicly read, " yet, you will
see, not one Royalist brigand will be converted by it."

The commandant was right, and the proclamation did
nothing but attach each partisan more strongly to his own
party. A few days later Hulot and his colleagues received
reinforcements ; and the new Minister of War sent informa-
tion that General Brune had been appointed to the com-
mand of the forces in the West of France, while Hulot,
whose experience was well known, had provisional authority
in the departments of Orne and Mayenne. Soon a hitherto
unknown activity set all the springs of administration work-
ing. A circular from the Minister of War and the Minister
of General Police announced that vigorous measures, the
execution of which was entrusted to the heads of the
military, had been taken to stifle the insurrection at its
source. But the Chouans and the Vendeans had already
profited by the sluggishness of the Republic to raise the
country and to gain complete possession of it. Accordingly,
a new consular proclamation was launched, addressed this
time to the troops :

" Soldiers,

" There are now in the West no enemies but bandits,
emigrants, and the hirelings of England.

" The army consists of more than sixty thousand gallant
men : let me learn soon that the rebel chiefs are no more.
Glory is to be gained by toil : who would be without it if it
were to be won by keeping to barracks in the cities ?

" Soldiers, no matter what your rank in the army may
be, the gratitude of the nation awaits you ! To deserve it
you must brave the inclemency of the seasons, ice, snow,

THE AMBUSH. 75

the bitter cold of night : you must surprise your enemies
at break of day, and put the wretches, the scandal of France,
to the sword !

" Let your campaign be brief and successful : give no
mercy to the bandits, but observe the strictest discipline

" National Guards ! let the effort of your arms be joined
to that of the troops of the line.

"If you know of any men among you who are partisans
of the bandits, arrest them ! Let them find nowhere any
shelter from the pursuing soldier ; and if there be any traitors
who dare to harbour and defend them, let both perish
together ! "

" What a fellow !" cried Hulot. " It is just as it was in
Italy : he rings the bell for mass, and says it, all by himself
That is the way to talk. "

" Yes : but he talks by himself and in his own name,"
said Gerard, who was beginning to dread what might come
of the 1 8th Brumaire.

" Odds sentries and sentry boxes ! " said Merle, " What
does that matter, since he is a soldier ? "

A few paces off some of the rank and file were cluster-
ing round the proclamation which was stuck on the wall.
Now, as not a man of them could read, they gazed at it,
some indifferently, others curiously, while two or three
scanned the passers-by for a citizen who looked learned.

"Come, Clef-des-Cceurs," said Beau-Pied mockingly to
his comrade, " what does that rag there say ? "

" It is easy to guess," answered Clef-des-CcEurs. And as
he spoke all looked at the pair, who were always ready to
play each his part.

"Look there!" continued Clef-des-Coeurs, pointing to a
rough cut at the head of the proclamation, where for some
days past a compass had replaced the level of 1 793. " It

76

THE CHOUANS.

means that we fellows have got to step out. They have
stuck a compass ' open on it for an emblem."

"My boy, don't play the learned man ; it is not ' emblem '
but ' problem.' I served first with the gunners," said
Beau-Pied, "and the officers were busy about nothing else."

" 'Tis an emblem ! " " 'Tis a problem ! " " Let us have
a bet on it." " What ? " " Your German pipe." " Done ! "

" Ask your pardon, adjutant, but is it not ' emblem,' and
not ' problem ' ? " said Clef-des-Coeurs to Gerard, who was
thoughtfully following Hulot and Merle.

" 'Tis both one and the other," said he, gravely.

" The adjutant is making game of u.s," said Beau-Pied.
" The paper means that our General of Italy is made consul
(a fine commission !) and that we shall get greatcoats and
boots ! "

' This refers to the French idiom, ouvrir le compos, meaning " stir the
stumps," " stei) out." — Translator's Note.

4Mi Md.-

Htiet>St>» -g_-_

Vici^Zju

CHAPTER II.

A NOTION OF FOUCHfiS.

TOWARDS the end of the month of Brumaire, while
Hulot was superintending the morning drill of his
demi-brigade, the whole of which had been drawn together
at Mayenne by orders from headquarters, an express from
Alenqon delivered to him certain despatches, during the
reading of which very decided vexation showed itself on his
face.

" Well, then, to business ! " cried he, somewhat ill-
temperedly, thrusting the papers in the crown of his hat.
" Two companies are to set out with me and march towards
Mortagne. The Chouans are about there. You will come
with me," said he to Merle and Gerard. " May they make
a noble of me if 1 understand a word of my despatches ! I
dare say I am only a fool. But never mind ! let us get to
work : there is no time to lose."

78 THE CHOUANS.

" Why, commandant, is there any very savage beast in
the game-bag there ? " asked Merle, pointing to the official
envelope of the despatch.

" God's thunder ! there is nothing at all : except that they
are bothering us ! "

When the commandant let slip this military expression
(or rather that for which, as mentioned before, we have sub-
stituted it), it always pointed to bad weather : and its various
intonations made up as it were a series of degrees which
acted as a thermometer of their chiefs temper to the demi-
brigade. Indeed, the old soldier's frankness had made
the interpretation so easy, that the sorriest drummer-boy in
the regiment soon knew his Hulot by heart, thanks to mere
observation of the changes in the grimace with which the
commandant cocked his cheek and winked his eye. This
time the tone of sullen wrath with which he accompanied the
word made his two friends silent and watchful. The very
pock-marks which pitted his martial visage seemed to deepen,
and his complexion took a browner tan. It had happened
that his mighty plaited pigtail had fallen forward on one of
his epaulettes when he put on his cocked hat, and Hulot
jerked it back with such rage that the curls were all dis-
ordered. Yet, as he stood motionless, with clenched fists,
his arms folded on his breast, and his moustache bristling,
Gerard ventured to ask him : " Do we start at once ? "

" Yes : if the cartridge-boxes are full," growled Hulot.

" They are."

" Shoulder arms ! File to the left ! Forward ! March ! "
said Gerard, at a sign from the chief

The drummers placed themselves at the head of the two
companies pointed out by Gerard : and as the drums began
to beat, the commandant, who had been plunged in thought,
seemed to wake up, and left the town, accompanied by his
two friends, to whom he did not address a word. Merle

A"* NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 79

and Gerard looked at each other several times without
speaking, as if to ask, " Will he sulk with us long ?" and as
they marched, they stole glances at Hulot, who was still
growling unintelligible words between his teeth. Several
times the soldiers heard him swearing : but not one of them
opened his lips ; for, at the right time, they all knew how to
observe the stern discipline to which the troops who had
served under Bonaparte in Italy had become accustomed.
Most of them were, like Hulot himself, relics of the famous
battalions that capitulated at Mayence on a promise that
they should not be employed on the frontiers, and who were
called in the army the " Mayenqais : " nor would it have been
easy to find officers and men who understood each other
better.

On the day following that on which they set out, Hulot
and his friends found themselves at early morning on the
Alen^on road, about a league from that city, in the direction
of Mortagne, where the road borders meadows watered by
the Sarthe. Over these a succession of picturesque land-
scapes opens to the left, while the right side, composed of
thick woods which join on to the great forest of Menil-
Broust, sets off (if we may use the painter's term) the softer
views of the river. The footpaths at the edge of the road
are shut in by ditches, the earth of which, constantly turned
up towards the fields, produces high slopes crowned by
ajoncs, as they call the thorny broom throughout the West.
This shrub, which branches out in thick bushes, affords
during the winter capital fodder for horses and cattle : but,
before its harvest, the Chouans used to hide behind its dark
green tufts. These slopes and their ajotics, which tell the
traveller that he is drawing near Brittany, made this part of
the road at that time as hazardous as it is still beautiful.

The dangers which were likely to be met in the journey
from Mortagne to Alen9on, and from Alengon to Mayenne,

8o THE C HO VANS.

were the cause of Hulot's expedition : and at this very point
the secret of his wrath at last escaped him. He was acting
as escort to an old mail-coach drawn by post-horses, whose
pace the weariness of his own soldiers kept to a slow walk.
The companies of Blues (forming part of the garrison of
Mortagne) which had escorted this wretched vehicle to the
limits of their own appointed district, where Hulot had come
to relieve them, were already on their way home, and
appeared afar off like black dots. One of the old Repub-
lican's own companies was placed a few paces behind the
coach, and the other in front of it. Hulot, who was between
Merle and Gerard, about half-way between the coach and
the vanguard, suddenly said to them :

" A thousand thunders ! Would you believe that the
general packed us off from Mayenne to dance attendance on
the two petticoats in this old wagon ?"

" But, commandant," answered Gerard, " when we took
up our post an hour ago with the citizenesses, you bowed
to them quite politely ! "

" There is just the shame of it ! Don't these Paris
dandies request us to show the greatest respect to their

d d females ? To think that they should insult good

and brave patriots like us by tying us to the tail of a
woman's skirt ! For my part, you know, I run straight
myself, and do not like dodgings in others. When I saw
Danton with his mistresses, Barras with his, I told them,
' Citizens, when the Republic set you to govern, she did not
mean to license the games of the old regime.' You will reply

that women Oh! onemusthave women, of course! Brave

fellows deserve women, and good women, too. But it is no use
chattering when there is mischief at hand. What was the
good of making short work of the abuses of the old days, if
patriots are to start them afresh ? Look at the First Consul,
there is a man for you : no women about him, always at his

A "NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 8i

business. I will bet my left moustache that he knows
nothing of this stupid errand they have sent us on."

" Faith ! commandant," answered Merle, laughing, " as
for the young lady who is stowed in the coach, I have only
seen the tip of her nose : but I must say nobody need be
ashamed of feeling what I feel — an itch to hang about the
carriage and strike up a little talk with our fair travellers."

" Take care. Merle," said Gerard. " The pretty birds
have got a citizen with diem who is sly enough to lay a trap
for you."

" What ! that incroyable, with his little eyes dancing from
one side of the road to the other as if he saw Chouans there ?
That dandy, whose legs are nearly invisible, and who looks
like a duck with its head sticking out of a pasty when the
carriage hides his horse's body ? If such a donkey as that
ever hinders me from stroking the pretty sparrow "

" Duck, sparrow ! my poor Merle, your thoughts are
running strangely on birds. Don't be too sure of your
duck. His green eyes look to me as treacherous as a
viper's, and as cunning as those of a wife who forgives
her husband. I mistru.st the Chouans themselves less than
these lawyers, with faces like a bottle of lemonade."

" Bah ! " cried Merle, gaily ; " with the commandant's
permission I'll take the risk. The girl has eyes like stars ;
it is worth staking high for the chance of looking at
them."

" He is hard hit, this comrade of ours," said Gerard to
the commandant ; " he begins to wander in his speech."

Hulot made a face, shrugged his shoulders, and answered :

" Before sipping his soup, I would have him try its
odour."

" Good Merle ! " continued Gerard, guessing by his
friend's slackening his pace that he was manoeuvring to
let the coach come up with him. " What a merry fellow

M

82

THE CHOUANS

he is. He might laugh at a comrade's death without being
thought heartless ! "

" He is a true French soldier," said Hulot, in a grave
tone.

" Look at him settling his epaulettes on his shoulders,
that they may see he is a captain ! " cried Gerard, laughing ;
" as if the rank had anything to do with the matter ! "

The carriage to-
wards which the
officer was making
way did, in fact,
contain two women,
one of whom seemed
to be the other's
attendant.

" These cattle al-
ways run in couples,"
said Hulot.

A short man, thin
and shrivelled, made
his horse prance,
sometimes before, sometimes behind the coach ; but though
he seemed to be the favoured travellers' companion, no one
had seen him speak to them. His silence, which might mean
either contempt or respect, the amount of the baggage, the
bandboxes of her whom the commandant called " a prin-
cess," all, even to the costume of the attendant cavalier, had
helped to stir Hulot's bile. The stranger's dress supplied a
faithful picture of the fashion which gave us at that time
the caricatures of the Incroyables. Readers must imagine
a personage arrayed in a coat the front skirts of which
were so short that they showed five or six inches of waist-
coat below them, and the skirts behind so long that they
resembled a codfish's tail, by which phrase, indeed, they were

A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 83

commonly designated. An immense cravat formed round
his neck such innumerable folds that the little head,
emerging from a labyrinth of muslin, almost justified
Captain Merle's kitchen simile. The stranger wore tight
breeches, and boots a la Suwarrow ; a huge white and blue
cameo was stuck, as a pin, in his shirt. Two watch-chains
hung in parallel festoons at his waist ; and his hair, hanging
in corkscrew curls on each side of the face, almost hid his
forehead. Finally, as a last touch of decoration, the collars
of his shirt and his coat rose so high, that his head presented
the appearance of a bouquet in its paper wrapping. If
there be added to these insignificant details, which formed a
mass of disparities with no ensemble, the absurd contrast
of his yellow breeches, his red waistcoat, his cinnamon-brown
coat, a faithful portrait will be given of the height of fashion
at which dandies aimed at the beginning of the Consulate.
Preposterous as the costume was, it seemed to have been
invented as a sort of touchstone of elegance, to show that
nothing can be too absurd for fashion to hallow it. The
rider appeared full thirty years old, though he was not in
reality more than twenty-two : an appearance due perhaps
to hard living, perhaps to the dangers of the time. Yet,
though he was dressed like a mountebank, his air an-
nounced a certain polish of manners which revealed the
well-bred man. No sooner did the captain approach the
carriage than the dandy seemed to guess his purpose, and
facilitated it by checking his horse's pace ; Merle, who had
cast a sarcastic glance at him, being met by one of those
impassive faces, which the vicissitudes of the Revolution had
taught to hide even the least emotion. As soon as the ladies
perceived the slouched corner of the captain's old cocked
hat, and his epaulettes, an angelically sweet voice asked :

" Sir officer ! will you have the kindness to tell us at what
point of the road we are ? "

84 THE CHOUANS.

A question from an unknown traveller, and that traveller
a woman, always has a singular charm, and her least word
seems to promise an adventure : but if the lady appears to
ask protection, relying on her weakness and her ignorance of
facts, where is the man who is not slightly inclined to build
a castle in the air, with a happy ending for himself? So the
words " Monsieur I'officier," and the ceremonious form of the
question, excited a strange disturbance in the captain's
heart. He tried to see what the fair traveller was like,
and was completely bafHed, a jealous veil hiding her
features from him ; he could hardly see even the eyes,
though they flashed through the gauze like two onyx
stones caught by the sun.

" You are now a league distant from Alen9on, madame,"
said he.

" Alenqon, already ? " And the unknown lady threw
herself, or let herself fall back in the carriage, without
further reply.

" Alen^on ? " repeated the other girl, as if waking from
sleep ; " you will see our country again "

She looked at the captain, and held her peace. But
Merle, finding himself deceived in his hope of seeing the
fair stranger, set himself to scan her companion. She was
a girl of about six-and-twenty, fair, well-shaped, and with
a complexion showing the clear skin and brilliant tints
which distinguish the women of Valognes, Bayeux, and
the district round Alengon. The glances of her blue eyes
did not speak wit, but a resolute temper, mingled with
tenderness. She wore a gown of common stuff, and her
hair plainly caught up under a cap, in the style of the Pays
de Caux, gave her face a touch of charming simplicity. Nor
was her general air, though it lacked the conventional dis-
tinction of society, devoid of the dignity natural to a modest
young girl who can survey her past life without finding

A ^NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 85

anything to repent in it. At a glance Merle could discover
in her a country blossom which, though transplanted to the
Parisian hothouses, where so many scorching rays are
concentrated, had lost nothing of its bright purity or of its
rustic freshness. The young girl's unstudied air, and her
modest looks, told him that she did not desire a listener ;
and he had no sooner retired than the two fair strangers
began, in a low voice, a conversation whereof his ear could
scarcely catch the bare sound.

" You started in such a hurry," said the country girl,
" that you scarcely took time to dress yourself. You are a
pretty figure ! If we are going farther than Alen9on, we
really must make a fresh toilette there."

" Oh, oh, Francine ! " cried the stranger.

" Yes ? "

" That is the third time you have tried to fish out the end
and object of our journey."

" Did I say the very least thing to deserve that reproach ? "

"Oh! I saw through your little device. Innocent and
simple as you used to be, you have learnt a few tricks in my
school. You have already taken a dislike to direct question-
ing, and you are right, child ; of all known manners of
extracting information, it is, to my thinking, the silliest."

" Well, then," went on Francine, " as nothing can escape
you, confess, Marie, would not your behaviour excite the
curiosity of a saint .'' Yesterday you had not a penny,
to-day your pockets are full of gold. They have given
you at Mortagne the mail-coach which had been robbed,
and its guard killed ; you have an escort of Government
troops, and you have in your suite a man whom I take to be
your evil angel."

" What, Corentin ? " said the young stranger, marking
her words by a couple of changes of voice, full of contempt —
contempt which even extended to the gesture with which

86 THE CHOUANS.

she pointed to the rider. " Listen, Francine," she con-
tinued, " do you remember Patriot, the monkey whom I
taught to imitate Danton, and who amused us so much ? "

" Yes, mademoiselle."

" Well ; were you afraid of him ? "

" He was chained up."

" Well, Corentin is muzzled, child."

" We used," said Francine, "to play with Patriot for hours
together, to be sure ; but it never ended without his playing
us some ugly trick ; " and with these words she fell back in
the carriage, close to her mistress, took her hands and
caressed them coaxingly, saying to her in affectionate tones :

" But you know what I mean, Marie, and you will not
answer me. How is it that in twenty-four hours, after
those fits of sadness which grieved me, oh ! so much, you
can be madly merry, just as you were when you talked of
killing yourself ? Whence this change ? I have a right
to ask you to let me see a little of your heart. It is mine
before it is anyone's : for never will you be better loved
than I love you. Speak, mademoiselle."

" Well, Francine, do you not see the reasons of my
gaiety all round us ? Look at the yellowing tufts of those
distant trees ; there are not two alike ; at a distance one
might think them a piece of old tapestry. Look at those
hedgerows behind which we may meet with Chouans every
moment. As I look at these broom bushes I think I can
see gun-barrels. I love this constant peril that surrounds
us. Wherever the road grows a little gloomy I expect that
we shall hear a volley in a moment ; and then my heart
beats, and a new sensation stirs me. Nor is it either the
tremor of fear or the fluttering of pleasure ; no ! it is
something better ; it is the working of all that is active in
me : it is life. Should I not be merry when I feel my life
once more alive ? "

A* NOTION OF POUCHES.

87

" Ah ! cruel girl, you will say nothing ? H oly Virgin ! " cried
Francine, lifting her eyes sorrowfully to heaven, " to whom
will she confess if she is silent to me ? "

" Francine," said the stranger, gravely, " I cannot reveal
my business to you. It is something terrible this time."

" But why do evil when you know that you are doing it ?"

" What would you have .■* I catch myself thinking as if I
were fifty, and acting as if I were fifteen. You have always
been my common
sense, poor girl ! but
in this business I
must stifle my con-
science. And yet,"
she said, with a sigh,
after an interval, " I
cannot succeed in
doing so. Now, how
can you ask me to
set over myself
a confessor so
stern as you

are

iu;.ll.

And she patted her hand gently.

" And when did I ever reproach you with what you have
done.'*" cried Francine, "Evil itself is charming in you.
Yes : Saint Anne of Auray herself, to whom I pray so hard
for you, would give you pardon for all. Besides, have I not
followed you on this journey without the least knowledge
whither you are going ? " and she kissed her mistress's
hands affectionately.

" But," said Marie, "you can leave me if your con-
science "

" Come, madame, do not talk like that," said Francine,
making a grimace of vexation. " Oh ! will you not tell me ? "

88 THE CHOUANS.

" I will tell you nothing," said the young lady firmly,
" only be assured of this, I hate my enterprise even worse
than I hate the man whose gilded tongue expounded it to
me. I will be so frank with you as to confess that I would
never have submitted to their will if I had not seen in the
matter, shameful farce as it is, a mixture of danger and of
romance which tempted me. Besides, I did not wish to
leave this earth of ours without having tried to gather
flowers of which I have still some hope, were I to perish in
the attempt. But remember, as something to redeem my
memory, that had I been happy, the sight of their guillotine
ready to drop on my head would never have made me take
a part in this tragedy — for tragedy as well as farce it is.
And now," she continued with a gesture of disgust, " if they
changed their minds and counter-ordered the plan, I would
throw myself into the Sarthe this moment, and it would not
be a suicide : for I have never yet lived."

" Oh ! Holy Virgin of Auray ! pardon her ! "

" What are you afraid of ? you know that the dull alterna-
tions of domestic life leave my passions cold. That is ill in
a woman : but my soul has gained the habit of a higher
kind of emotion, able to support stronger trials. I might
have been like you, a gentle creature. Why did I rise
above or sink below the level of my sex ? Ah ! what a
happy woman is General Bonaparte's wife ! I am sure to
die young, since I have already come to the point of not
blanching at a pleasure party where there is blood to drink,
as poor Danton used to say. But forget what I am saying :
it is the woman fifty years old in me that spoke. Thank
God ! the girl of fifteen will soon make her appearance
again."

The country maid shuddered. She alone knew the im-
petuous and ungoverned character of her mistress. She alone
was acquainted with the strangenesses of her enthusiastic

A NOT ION OF POUCHES. 89

soul, with the real feelings of the woman who, up to this
time, had seen life float before her like an intangible shadow
despite her constant effort to seize and fix it. After lavish-
ing all her resources with no return, she had remained
untouched by love. But, stung by a multitude of unfulfilled
desires, weary of fighting without a foe, she had come in her
despair to prefer good to evil when it offered itself in the
guise of enjoyment, evil to good when there was a spice of
romance in it, ruin to easy-going mediocrity as the grander
of the two, the dark and mysterious prospect of death to a
life bereft of hope or even of suffering. Never was such
a powder magazine ready for the spark ; never so rich a
banquet prepared for love to revel in ; never a daughter
of Eve with more gold mingled throughout her clay.
Francine, like an earthly providence, kept a watch over
this strange being, whose perfections she worshipped and
whose restoration to the celestial choir from which some sin
of pride seemed to have banished her as an expiation, she
regarded as the accomplishment of a heavenly mission.

" There is Alengon steeple," said the rider, drawing near
the carriage.

" I see it," answered the young lady drily.

'* Very well," quoth he, retiring with signs of obedience
not the less absolute for his disappointment.

" Faster ! faster ! " said the lady to the postilion, " there
is nothing to fear now. Trot or gallop if you can, are we
not in Alen^on streets ? "

As she passed the commandant, she cried to him in her
sweet voice : " We shall meet at the inn, commandant ;
come and see me there."

"Just so!" replied the commandant. "At the inn!
come and see me! that is the way the creatures talk to a
demi-brigadier." And he shook his fist at the carriage
which was rolling rapidly along the road.

N

90 THE C HO VANS.

"Don't complain, commandant," laughed Corentin, who
was trying to make his horse gallop so as to catch the
carriage up. " She has your general's commission in her
sleeve."

"Ah!" growled Hulot to his friend; "I will not let
these gentry make an ass of me ! I would rather pitch my
general's uniform into a ditch than gain it in a woman's
chamber. What do the geese mean ? do you understand
the thing, you fellows ?"

" Well, yes," said Merle ; " I understand that she is the
prettiest woman I ever saw. I think you have mistaken
the phrase. Perhaps it is the First Consul's wife .'' "

"Bah!" answered Hulot. "The First Consul's wife is an
old woman, and this is a young one. Besides, my orders
from the minister tell me that her name is Mademoiselle de
Verneuil. She is a ci-devant. As if I did not know it!
they all played that game before the Revolution. You could
become a demi-brigadier then in two crotchets and six
quavers ; you only had to say ' my soul ! ' to them prettily
two or three times."

While each soldier stirred his stumps (in the comman-
dant's phrase), the ugly vehicle which acted as mail-coach
had quickly gained the hotel of " The Three Moors,"
situated in the middle of the high street of Alen9on. The
clatter and rattle of the shapeless carriage brought the host
to the doorstep. Nobody in Alengon expected the chance
of the mail-coach putting up at " The Three Moors : " but
the tragedy which had happened at Mortagne made so many
people follow it that the two travellers, to evade the general
curiosity, slipped into the kitchen, the invariable ante-
chamber of all western inns : and the host was about, after
scanning the carriage, to follow them, when the postilion
caught him by the arm.

" Attention ! citizen Brutus," said he ; " there is an

A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 91

escort of Blues coming. As there is neither driver nor mail
bags 'tis I who am bringing you the citizenesses. They will
pay you, no doubt, like ci-devant princesses, and so "

" And so we will have a glass of wine together in a minute,
my boy," said the host.

After glancing at the kitchen, blackened by smoke, and

its table stained

by uncooked

meat. Mile, de

Verneuil fled

like a bird into

the next room, for she liked the kitchen sights and smells

as little as the curiosity of a dirty man-cook and a short

stout woman who were staring at her.

" What are we to do, wife ? " said the innkeeper. " Who
the devil would have thought that we should have company
like this in these hard times ? This lady will get out of
patience before I can serve her a decent breakfast. Faith !
I have a notion : as they are gentlefolk, I will propose that
they should join the person upstairs, eh .■* "

But when the host looked for his new guest he only found
Francine, to whom he said in a low tone, and taking her
aside to the back of the kitchen, which looked towards the

92 THE CHOUANS.

yard, so as to be out of earshot : "If the ladies would like, as
I doubt not, to eat in a private room, I have a delicate meal
all ready for a lady and her son. The travellers," added he,
with an air of mystery, " are not likely to object to share
their breakfast with you. They are people of quality."

But he had hardly finished his sentence when he felt a
slight tap from a whip-handle on his back, and turning
sharply round he saw behind him a short, strongly-built man
who had noiselessly issued from a neighbouring room, and
whose appearance seemed to strike terror into the plump
landlady, the cook, and the scullion. The host himself
grew pale as he turned his head round ; but the little man
shook the hair which completely covered his forehead and
eyes, stood on tiptoe to reach the host's ear, and said :
" You know what any imprudence or any tale-bearing
means ? and what is the colour of our money when we pay
for such things ? We don't stint it."

And he added to his words a gesture which made a
hideous commentary on them. Although the host's portly
person prevented Francine from seeing the speaker, she
caught a word or two of the sentences which he had
whispered ; and remained thunderstruck as she heard the
harsh tones of the Breton's voice. While all besides were
in consternation, she darted towards the little man ; but he,
whose movements had the celerity of a wild animal's, was
already passing out by a side door into the yard. And
Francine thought, she must have been mistaken, for she saw
nothing but what seemed the black and tan skin of a middle-
sized bear. Startled, she ran to the window, and through
its smoke- stained glass gazed at the stranger, who was
making for the stable with halting steps. Before entering it
he sent a glance of his black eyes to the first floor of the
inn, and then to the stage-coach, as if he wished to give a
hint of importance to some friend about the carriage. In

4 NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 93

spite of the goat-skins, and thanks to this gesture, which
revealed his face, Francine was able to recognize by his
enormous whip and his gait — crawling, though agile enough
at need — the Chouan nicknamed Marche-a-Terre. And
she could descry him, though not clearly, across the dark
stable, where he lay down in the straw, assuming a posture
in which he could survey everything that went on in the inn.
Marche-a-Terre had curled himself up in sitch a way that
at a distance, nay, even close at hand, the cleverest spy might
have easily taken him for one of the big carter's dogs, that
sleep coiled round with mouth on paw. His behaviour showed
Francine that he had not recognized her; and in the ticklish
circumstances wherein her mistress was placed, she hardly
knew whether to be glad or sorry for it. But the mysterious
relations between the Chouan's threat and the offer of the
host — an offer common enough with innkeepers, who like to
take toll twice on the same goods — stimulated her curiosity.
She left the blurred pane through which she had been
looking at the shapeless mass which in the darkness indicated
Marche-a-Terre's position, returned towards the innkeeper
and perceived him looking like a man who has put his foot
in it, and does not know how to draw it back. The Chouan's
gesture had struck the poor man cold. No one in the
West was ignorant of the cruel ingenuity of torture with
which the King's Huntsmen punished those suspected of
mere indiscretion, and the host felt their knives already at
his throat. The cook stared with horrified glance at the
hearth where they not seldom roasted the feet of those who
had given information against them. The plump little
landlady held a kitchen knife in one hand, a half-cut apple
in the other, and gazed aghast at her husband, while, finally,
the scullion tried to make out the meaning of this silent
terror, which he did not understand. Francine's curiosity
was naturally kindled by this dumb show, where the chief

94 THE CHOUANS.

actor, though not present, was in everyone's mind and sight
The girl felt rather pleased at the Chouan's terrible power,
and though her simple character did not comport with the
usual tricks of a waiting-maid, she had for the moment too
great an interest in unravelling the secret not to make the
best of her game.

" Well, mademoiselle accepts your offer," she said gravely
to the host, who started as if suddenly awakened by the
words.

" What offer ? " asked he, with real surprise.

"What offer ? " asked Mile, de Verneuil.

" What offer ? " asked a fourth personage, who happened
to be on the lowest step of the staircase, and who bounded
lightly into the kitchen.

" Why, to breakfast with your people of quality," said
Francine impatiently.

" Of quality ? " repeated the person who had come from
the stairs, in an ironical and satiric tone. " My fine fellow,
that seems to me an innkeeper's joke, and a bad one. But
if it is this young citizeness that you want to give us as
guest, one would be a fool to refuse, my good man," said he,
looking at Mile, de Verneuil. And he added, clapping the
stupefied host on the shoulder, " In my mother's absence I
accept."

The giddy grace of youth hid the insolent pride of
these words, which naturally drew the attention of all the
actors in the scene to the new arrival. Then the host
assumed the air of a Pilate trying to wash his hands of the
death of Christ, stepped back two paces towards his plump
spouse, and said in her ear, " I call you to witness that if
any harm happens it is not my fault. But," added he
still lower, "to make sure, go and tell M. Marche-a-Terre
all about it."

The traveller, a young man of middle height, wore a blue

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

95

coat and long black gaiters, which rose above his knees, over
breeches also of blue cloth. This plain uniform, devoid of
epaulettes, was that of the students of the Ecole Poly-
technique. At a glance Mile, de Verneuil could distinguish
under the sober costume an elegant shape, and the je ne

71^*71*^..

sais qiioi which announces native nobility. The young man's
face, not striking at first sight, soon became noticeable owing
to a certain conformation of feature which showed a soul
capable of great things. A brown complexion, fair curly hair,
a finely-cut nose, motions full of ease, all, in short, declared
in him a course of life guided by lofty sentiments and the
habit of command. But the most unmistakable symptoms of
his talents were a chin of the Bonaparte type, and a lower
lip which joined the upper with such a graceful curve as the
acanthus leaf under a Corinthian capital describes. Nature

96 THE C HO VANS.

had clothed these two features with an irresistibly winning
grace.

" The young man looks, for a Republican, remarkably
like a gentleman," said Mile, de Verneuil to herself. To
see all this at a glance, to be seized with the desire of
pleasing, to bend her head gracefully to one side, smile
coquettishly, and dart one of those velvet glances which
would rekindle a heart dead to love, to drop over her
almond-shaped black eyes deep lids whose lashes, long and
bent, made a brown line on her cheek, to devise the most
melodious tones with which her voice could infuse a subtle
charm into the commonplace phrase, " We are very much
obliged to you, sir " — all this manoeuvring did not take her
the time which it takes to describe it. Then Mile, de
Verneuil, addressing the host, inquired after her room,
perceived the staircase, and disappeared up it with Francine,
leaving the stranger to settle for himself whether the reply
implied acceptance or refusal.

" Who is the woman ? " said the student of the Ecole
Polytechnique briskly, to the motionless and ever more
stupefied host.

" 'Tis the citizeness Verneuil," replied Corentin in a sour
tone, scanning the young man jealously, " and she is a
ci-devant. What do you want with her ? "

The stranger, who was humming a Republican song,
lifted his head haughtily towards Corentin. The two young
men glared at each other for a moment like two gamecocks
on the point of fighting ; and the glance was the seed of an
eternal and mutual hatred. Corentin's green eyes announced
spite and treachery as clearly as the soldier's blue ones
promised frankness. The one was born to noble manners,
the other had nothing but acquired insinuation. The one
towered, the other crouched. The one commanded respect,
and the other tried to obtain it. The motto of the one

A NOT/ON OF POUCHES. 97

should have been " Gain the day ! " of the other, " Share the
booty ! "

'" Is Citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr here ?" said a peasant who
entered.

" What do you want with him ? " said the young man,
coming forward.

The peasant bowed low and handed him a letter, which
the cadet threw into the fire after he had read it. By way
of answer he nodded, and the man disappeared.

" You come from Paris, no doubt, citizen," said Corentin,
coming towards the stranger with a certain easiness of
manner, and with an air of suppleness and conciliation
which seemed to be more than the Citizen du Gua could
bear.

"Yes," he answered drily.

" And of course you have a commission in the artillery ? "

" No, citizen ; in the navy."

" Ah ! " said Corentin carelessly, " then you are going to
Brest } "

But the young sailor turned abruptly on his heel without
deigning to answer, and soon disappointed the fond hopes
which his face had inspired in Mile, de Verneuil. He busied
himself in ordering his breakfast with the levity of a child,
cross-examined the host and hostess as to their receipts,
wondered at provincial ways, like a Parisian just extracted
from his enchanted shell, gave himself the airs and megrims
of a coquette, and, in short, showed as little strength
of character as his face and manners had at first promised
much. Corentin smiled with pity when he saw him make
faces as he tasted the best cider in Normandy.

" Bah ! " cried he, " how can you people drink that stuff?
there is food and drink both in it. The Republic may well
be shy of a country where they make the vintage with blows
of a pole, and shoot travellers from behind a hedge on the

o

98 THE CHOUANS.

high roads. Don't put doctors' stuff like that on the table
for us : but give us some good Bordeaux, white and red too.
And be sure there is a good fire upstairs. These good folk seem
to be quite behind the times in matter of civilization. Ah!"
he went on with a sigh, " there is only one Paris in the
world, and great pity it is that one can't take it to sea with
one. Why, you spoil-sauce ! " cried he to the cook, " you
are putting vinegar in that fricasseed chicken when you have
got lemons at hand. — And as for you, Mrs. Landlady, you
have given us such coarse sheets that I have not slept a
wink all night."

Then he began to play with a large cane, going with
childish exactitude through the evolutions which, as they
were performed with greater or less finish and skill, indicated
the higher or lower rank of a young man in the army of
Incroyables.

" And 'tis with dandies like that," said Corentin confi-
dentially to the host, scanning his face as he spoke, " that
they hope to pick up the Republic's navy ! "

" That fellow," whispered the young man in the hostess's
ear, " is a spy of Fouche's. ' Police ' is written on his face,
and I could swear that the stain on his chin is Paris mud.
But two can play "

As he spoke, a lady towards whom the sailor ran, with
every mark of outward respect, entered the inn kitchen.
" Dear mamma !" he said, " come here, 1 pray you. 1 think
I have mustered some guests in your absence."

" Guests ! " she answered ; " what madness ! "

" 'Tis Mile, de Verneuil," he replied, in a low voice.

" She perished on the scaffold after the affair at Savenay,"
said his mother sharply to him ; " she had gone to Le Mans
to rescue her brother the Prince of Loudon."

" You are mistaken, madame',' said Corentin gently, but
laying a stress on the word madame, " there are two

A iWOTlON OF FOUCHE'S.

99

Demoiselles de Verneuil. Great houses always have several
branches."

The strange lady, surprised at this familiar address, re-
coiled a step or two as if to survey this unexpected inter-
locutor ; she fixed on him her black eyes full of that quick

,J^5^|||.

7.r.rtCtr

iu.^.L

shrewdness which
comes so naturally to women, and
seemed trying to find out with what object he had just testified
to the existence of Mile, de Verneuil. At the same time
Corentin, who had been privately studying the lady, denied
her the pleasures of maternity, while granting her those of
love. He was too gallant to allow even the happiness of
possessing a son twenty years old to a lady whose dazzling
skin, whose arched and rich eyebrows, with eyelashes still in
good condition, attracted his admiration, while her luxuriant
black hair, parted in bands on her forehead, set off the

loo THE CHOUANS.

freshness of a face that showed mental power. Some faint
wrinkles on the forehead, far from proclaiming age, betrayed
the passions of youth, and if the piercing eyes were a little
dimmed, the affection might have come either from the
fatigues of travel or from a too frequent indulgence in
pleasure. Lastly, Corentin noticed that the stranger was
wrapped in a mantle of English stuff, and that the shape of
her bonnet, apparently also foreign, did not agree with any
of the fashions then called a la Grccque, which still ruled
Parisian toilettes. Now Corentin was one of those people
who are characteristically inclined to the constant suspicion
of ill rather than good, and he immediately conceived doubts
as to the patriotism of the two travellers. On her side, the
lady, who had also and with equal swiftness taken obser-
vations of Corentin's person, turned to her son with a
meaning look, which could be pretty faithfully worded,
" Who is this odd fish ? is he on our side ? " To which
unspoken question the young sailor replied with a look and
gesture signifying " Faith! I know nothing at all about him,
and I doubt him more than you do." Then, leaving it to
his mother to guess the riddle, he turned to the hostess and
said in her ear, " Try to find out who this rascal is ; — whether
he is really in the young lady's train, and why ? "

"So," said Madame du Gua, looking at Corentin, "you
are sure, citizen, that there is a Mile, de Verneuil living.-'"

" She has as certain an existence in flesh and blood,
madame, as the Citizen du Gua Saint-Cyr."

The answer had a touch of profound irony, which the
lady alone understood : and anybody else would have been
put out of countenance by it. Her son directed a sudden
and steady gaze at Corentin, who pulled out his watch
coolly, without appearing to dream of the anxiety which his
answer produced. But the lady, disquieted and desirous of
knowing at once whether the phrase meant mischief, or

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. loi

whether it was a mere charice utterance, said to Corentin in
the most natural way in the world :

"Good heavens! how unsafe the roads are! We were
attacked beyond Mortagne by Chouans, and my son was
nearly killed in defending me. He had two balls through
his hat ! "

" What, madame ? you were in the coach which the
brigands robbed in spite of the escort, and which has
just brought us here ? you ought to know the carriage then.
Why, they told me as I went through Mortagne that there
were two thousand Chouans present at the attack on the
coach, and that every soul in it, even the passengers, had
perished. This is the way people write history ! "

The gossipping tone which Corentin affected, and his
simple air, made him look like a frequenter of Little Provence
who had learnt with sorrow the falsity of some bit of political
news.

" Alas ! madame," he went on, " if travellers get their
throats cut so near Paris, what must be the danger of the
roads in Brittany.'* Faith! I'll go back to Paris myself without
venturing further ! "

" Is Mile, de Verneuil young and pretty ? " asked the lady,
struck by a sudden thought and addressing the hostess.
But as she spoke the host cut short the conversation, which
was almost painfully interesting to the three speakers, by
announcing that breakfast was ready. The young sailor
offered his hand to his mother with an affectation of familiarity.
This confirmed the suspicions of Corentin, to whom he said
aloud, as he made for the stair :

" Citizen, if you are in the company of Mile, de Verneuil,
and if she accepts mine host's proposal, make yourself at
home."

Although these words were spoken in a cavalier fashion,
and not very obligingly, Corentin went upstairs.

I02

THE CHOUANS.

The young man pressed the lady's hand hard : and when the
Parisian was some half dozen steps behind, he whispered,
" See what inglorious risks your rash plans expose us to ! if
we are found out, how can we escape ? and what a part you
are making me play ! "

The three found themselves in a pretty

large room, and it did not need great

experience of travel in the West to see

that the innkeeper had lavished all

his resources, and provided unusual

luxuries for the reception of his

guests. The table was laid

with care, the heat of a large

fire had driven out the damp ;

and thelinen, the chairs

and the covers were

not intolerably dirty.

Therefore Corentin

could see that the

host had, as

ai^^ the vernacular

has it, turned

his house inside

out to please

the strangers.

" That means," said he to himself, " that these people are

not what they pretend. This young fellow is a keen hand :

I thought he was a fool, but now I take him to be quite a

match in sharpness for myself."

The young sailor, his mother, and Corentin waited for Mile,
de Verneuil, while the host went to inform her that they were
ready : but the fair traveller did not make her appearance.
The student of the Ecole Polytechnique, guessing that she
might be making objections, left the room humming the song,

^ NOTION OF POUCHES. 103

. " Veillons au salut de I'empire," and went towards Mile, de
Verneuil's chamber, stimulated by a desire to conquer her
scruples, and to bring her with him. Perhaps he wished
merely to resolve the suspicions which disturbed him ; per-
haps to try upon this stranger the fascination which every
man prides himself on being able to exert over a pretty
woman.

" If that is a Republican," thought Corentin, as he saw
hirh leave the room, " may I be hanged ! his very shoulders
move like a courtier's. And if that is his mother," continued
he, looking at Madame du Gua, " I am the pope ! 1 have
got hold of some Chouans : let us make sure of what their
quality is."

The door soon opened and the young sailor entered,
leading by the hand Mile, de Verneuil, whom he ushered to
the table with an air self-satisfied, but full of courtesy. The
hour which had passed away had not been time lost in the
devil's service. With Francine's assistance Mile, de Verneuil
had arrayed herself for battle in a travelling costume more
dangerous perhaps than a ball dress itself The simplicity
of it had the attractive charm, resulting from the art with
which a woman, fair enough to dispense with ornaments
altogether, knows how to reduce her toilette to the condition
of a merely secondary charm. She wore a green dress exqui-
sitely cut, the frogged spencer purposely showing her shape
to an extent almost unbecoming in a young girl, and not
concealing either her willowy waist, her elegant bust, or the
grace of her movements. She entered with the agreeable
smile naturally indulged in by women who can show
between their rosy lips an even range of teeth as clear as
porcelain, and in their cheeks a pair of dimples as fresh as
those of a child. As she had laid aside the travelling wrap
which had before concealed her almost entirely from the
sailor's gaze, she had no difficulty in setting at work the

I04 THE CHOUANS.

thousand little innocent-seeming tricks by which a woman
sets off and exhibits for admiration the beauties of her face and
the graceful carriage of her head. Her air and her toilette
matched so well, and made her look so much younger, that
Madame du Gua thought she might be going too far in
giving her twenty years. So coquettish a toilette, one so
evidently made with the desire of pleasing, might naturally
excite the young man's hopes. But Mile, de Verneuil
merely bowed to him with a languid inclination of the head,
hardly turning towards him, and seemed to drop his hand in
a fashion so easy and careless, that it put him completely
out of countenance. The strangers could hardly attribute
this reserve either to distrust or to coquetry : it seemed
rather a natural or assumed indifference : while the innocent
air of the traveller's face made it impenetrable. Nor did she
let any determination towards conquest appear : the pretty
seductive manner which had already deceived the young
sailor's self-love seemed a gift of nature. So the stranger
took his own chair with something like vexation.

Mile, de Verneuil took Francine by the hand, and ad-
dressing Madame du Gua, said in an insinuating voice,
" Madame, will you be so good as to permit this maid of
mine, whom I look on rather as a friend than as a servant, to
eat with us? In these stormy times devoted service can
only be repaid by affection. Nay, is it not all that we have
left ? "

Madame du Gua replied to this last phrase, pronounced in
a low voice, with a half-curtsey, rather stiff in manner, and
betraying her disappointment at meeting so pretty a woman.
Then, leaning towards her son's ear, " Ho ! " said she,
" ' stormy times ' ' devotion ' ' madame ' and ' servant ! ' She
cannot be Mile, de Verneuil : she must be some girl sent by
Fouche."

The guests were about to take their places, when Mile.

w4 NOTION OF POUCHES. 105

de Verneuil's eyes fell on Corentin. He was still minutely
scanning the two strangers, who appeared uncomfortable
enough under his gaze.

" Citizen," she said, " I hope you are too well bred to dog
my steps in this way. When the Republic sent my family
to the scaffold it was not magnanimous enough to appoint a
guardian over me. Although with unheard-of and chivalrous
gallantry you have attached yourself to me against my will,"
and she heaved a sigh, " I am resolved not to allow the
cares of guardianship which you lavish on me to be a
cause of inconvenience to yourself I am in safety here :
you may leave me as I am."

And she darted at him a steady glance of contempt.
Corentin did not fail to understand her. He checked a
smile which almost curled the corners of his cunning lips, and
bowed to her in the most respectful style.

" Citizeness," said he, " it will always be a happiness to
me to obey you. Beauty is the only queen to whose
service a true Republican may willingly submit."

As she saw him leave the room, Mile, de Verneuil's eyes
gleamed with joy so unaffected, and she directed towards
Francine a meaning smile expressing so much satisfaction,
that Madame du Gua, though her jealousy had made her
watchful, felt inclined to discard the suspicions with which
Mile, de Verneuil's extreme beauty had inspired her.
" Perhaps she is really Mile, de Verneuil," whispered she to
her son.

" And her escort ? " replied the young man, whom pique
inspired with prudence. " Is she a prisoner or a protegee, a
friend or a foe of the government ? "

Madame du Gua winked slightly, as though to say that
she knew how to discover this secret. But the departure
of Corentin seemed to soften the mistrust of the sailor, whose
face lost its stern look. He bent on Mile, de Verneuil

p

io6 THE CHOUANS.

glances which rather showed an immoderate passion for
women in general than the respectful ardour of dawning
love. But the young lady only became more circumspect
in her demeanour, and reserved her amiability for Madame
du Gua. The young man, sulking by himself, endeavoured
in his vexation to affect indifference in his turn. But Mile,
de Verneuil appeared not to notice his behaviour, and
showed herself ingenuous but not timid, and reserved with-
out prudery. Thus this party of apparent incompatibles
showed considerable coolness one to another, producing
even a certain awkwardness and constraint, destructive of
the pleasure which both Mile, de Verneuil and the young
sailor had promised themselves. But women possess such
a freemasonry of tact and manners, such close community of
nature, and such lively desire for the indulgence of sen-
sibility, that they are always able to break the ice on such
occasions. The two fair guests, suddenly and as though by
common consent, began gently to rally their solitary cavalier,
and to vie with each other in jests and little attentions
towards him : their agreement in so doing putting them on
easy terms, so that words and looks which, while the
constraint lasted, would have had some special meaning, lost
their importance. In short, half an hour had not passed
before the two women, already sworn foes at heart, became in
appearance the best friends in the world. Yet the young
sailor found himself as much vexed by Mile, de Verneuil's
ease as he had been by her reserve, and he was so
chagrined that, in a fit of silent anger, he regretted having
shared his breakfast with her.

" Madame," said Mile, de Verneuil to Madame du Gua,
" is your son always as grave as he is now ? "

" Mademoiselle," he replied, " I was asking myself what is
the good of a fleeting happiness. The secret of my sadness
lies in the vividness of my enjoyment."

A NOT/ON OF POUCHES.

107

"Compliments of this sort," said she, laughing, "smack
rather of the court than of the Ecole Polytechnique."

" Yet he has but expressed a very natural feeling,
mademoiselle," said Madame du Gua, who had her reasons
for wishing to keep on terms with the stranger.

" Well, then ! laugh a little," said Mile, de Verneuil with a
smile to the young man. " What do you look like when you

weep, if what you are pleased to call happiness makes you
look so solemn ? "

The smile, accompanied as it was by a glance of provo-
cation, which was a little out of keeping with her air of
innocence, made the young man pluck up hope. But,
urged by that nature which always makes a woman go too
far, or not far enough. Mile, de Verneuil, who one moment
seemed actually to take possession of the young man by a
glance sparkling with all the promises of love, the next met
his gallantries with cold and severe modesty — the common
device under which women are wont to hide their real
feelings. Once, and once only, when each thought the other's
eyelids were drooping, they exchanged their real thoughts.

io8 THE CHOUANS.

But they were as quick to obscure as to communicate this
light, which, as it lightened their hearts, also disturbed
their composure. As though ashamed of having said so
much in a single glance, they dared not again look at each
other. Mile, de Verneuil, anxious to alter the stranger's
opinion of her, shut herself up in cool politeness, and even
seemed impatient for the end of the meal.

" You must have suffered much in prison, mademoiselle,"
said Madame du Gua.

" Alas ! madame, it does not seem to me that I am out
of prison yet."

" Then is your escort intended to guard or watch you,
mademoiselle ? Are you an object of affection or of
suspicion to the Republic ?"

Mile, de Verneuil felt instinctively that Madame du Gua
wished her little good, and was put on her guard by the
question. " Madame," she answered, " I am really not
myself quite sure of the nature of my relations with the
Republic at this moment."

" Perhaps you inspire it with terror," said the young man
half ironically.

" We had better respect mademoiselle's secrets," said
Madame du Gua.

" Oh ! madame, there is not much interest in the secrets
of a young girl who as yet knows nothing of life save its
misfortunes."

" But," answered Madame du Gua, in order to keep up a con-
versation which might tell her what she wished to know, " the
First Consul seems to be excellently disposed. Do they not
say that he is going to suspend the laws against emigrants ?"
" Yes, madame," said she, with perhaps too much eager-
ness, " but, if so, why are Vend(^e and Brittany being roused
to insurrection ? Why set France on fire ? "

This generous and apparently self-reproachful cry startled

X NOTION OF POUCHES. 109

the sailor. He gazed scrutinizingly at Mile, de Verneuil, but
could not descry any expression of enmity or the reverse on
her face. Its delicate covering of bright skin told no tales,
and an unconquerable curiosity helped to give a sudden
increase to the interest which strong desire had already
made him feel in this strange creature.

" But," she went on after a pause, " are you going to
Mayenne, madame?"

" Yes, mademoiselle," replied the young man with an air
as if to say, " What then.!*"

"Well, madame," continued Mile, de Verneuil, "since your
son is in the Republic's service "

She pronounced these words with an air of outward
indifference, but fixing on the two strangers one of those
furtive glances of which women and diplomatists have the
secret, she continued, "You must be in dread of the Chouans,
and an escort is not a thing to be despised. Since we have
already become as it were fellow-travellers, come with me
to Mayenne."

Mother and son hesitated, and seemed to consult each
other.

" It is perhaps imprudent," said the young man, "to confess
that business of the greatest importance requires our pre-
sence to-night in the neighbourhood of F"ougeres, and that
we have not yet found a conveyance : but ladies are so
naturally generous, that I should be ashamed not to show
confidence in you. Nevertheless," he added, " before
putting ourselves into your hands we have a right to know
whether we are likely to come safe out of them. Are you
the mistress or the slave of your Republican escort? Excuse
a young sailor's frankness, but I am unable to help see-
ing something rather singular in your position."

" We live in a time, sir, when nothing that occurs is not sin-
gular, so, believe me, you may accept without scruple. Above

no THE CHOUANS.

all," added she, laying stress on her words, " you need fear
no treachery in an offer made to you honestly by a person
who does not identify herself with political hatreds."

" A journey so made will not lack its dangers," said he,
charging his glance with a meaning which gave point to
this commonplace reply.

"What more are you afraid of?" asked she, with a mocking
smile, " / can see no danger for anyone."

"Is she who speaks the same woman who just now
seemed to share my desires in a look ? " said the young man
to himself. "What a tone! she must be laying some trap
for me."

At the very same moment the clear piercing hoot of an
owl, which seemed to have perched on the chimney-top,
quivered through the air like a sinister warning.

"What is that ?" said Mile, de Verneuil. "Our journey
will not begin with lucky omens But how do you get owls
here that hoot in full day-time ? " asked she, with an
astonished look.

"It happens sometimes," said the young man coolly.
" Mademoiselle," he continued, " may we not bring you bad
luck ? was not that your thought ? Let us then not be fellow-
travellers."

He said this with a quiet reticence of manner which sur-
prised Mile, de Verneuil.

" Sir," she said with quite aristocratic insolence, " I have
not the least desire to put any constraint on you. Let us
keep the very small amount of liberty which the Republic
leaves us. If madame was alone I should insist "

A soldier's heavy tread sounded in the corridor, and
Commandant Hulot soon entered with a sour countenance.

"Ah! colonel, come here," said Mile, de Verneuil,
smiling and pointing to a chair near her. " Let us attend,
since things will so have it, to affairs of State. But why

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

Ill

don't you laugh ? what is the matter with you ? have we
Chouans here ? "

But the commandant stood agape at the young stranger,
whom he considered with extraordinary attention.

" Mother, will you have some more hare ? Mademoiselle,
you are eating nothing," said the young sailor, busying him-
self with his guests,
to Francine.

But Hulot's sur-
prise and Mile, de
Verneuil's attention
were so unmistak-
ably serious, that
wilful misunder-
standing of them
would have been
dangerous. So the
young man went
onabruptly, "What
is the matter, com-
mandant.'' do you
happen to know me ? "

" Perhaps so," answered the Republican.

" Indeed, I think I have seen you at the School."

" I never went to any school," replied as abruptly the
commandant, " and what school do you come from .■' "

" The Ecole Polytechnique."

" Ah ! yes. From the barrack where they try to hatch
soldiers in dormitories," answered the commandant, whose
hatred for officers who had passed through this scientific
seminary was ungovernable. " But what service do you
belong to ? "

" The navy."

"Ah!" said Hulot, laughing sardonically, "have you

ti2 THE CHOUANS.

heard of many pupils of that school in the navy? It sends
out," said he in a serious tone, " only officers in the artil-
lery and the engineers."

But the young man did not blench.

" I was made an exception," said he, " because of the
name I bear. All our family have been sailors."

"Ah!" said Hulot, "and what is your family name,
citizen ?"

" Du Gua Saint-Cyr."

" Then you were not murdered at Mortagne ? "

" We had a narrow escape of it," interrupted Madame du
Gua eagerly. "My son received two bullets."

" And have you got papers ? " said Hulot, paying no
attention to the mother.

" Perhaps you want to read them ? " asked the young
sailor in an impertinent tone. His sarcastic blue eyes were
studying by turns the gloomy face of the commandant and
Mile, de Verneuil's countenance.

" Pray, does a young monkey like you want to make
a fool of me ? Your papers at once, or off with you ! "

" There! there! my excellent sir, I am not a nincompoop.
Need I give you any answer ? Who are you ?"

" The commandant of the department," replied Hulot.

" Oh then, my situation may become serious, for I shall
have been taken red-handed." And he held out a glass of
Bordeaux to the commandant.

" I am not thirsty," answered Hulot. " Come ! your
papers."

At this moment, hearing the clash of arms and the
measured tread of soldiers in the street, Hulot drew
near the window with an air of satisfaction which made
Mile, de Verneuil shudder. This symptom of interest
encouraged the young man, whose face had become cold
and proud. Dipping in his coat pocket, he drew from

A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S.

"3

it a neat pocket-book and offered the commandant some
papers which Hulot read slowly, comparing the description
with the appearance of the suspicious traveller. During this
examination the owl's hoot began again, but this time it
was easy to trace in it the tone and play of a human

\K...\\

voice. The commandant gave the young man back his
papers with a mocking air.

" That is all very well," said he, " but you must come
with me to the district office. I am not fond of music."

" Why do you take him there ? " asked Mile, de
Verneuil, in an altered tone.

" Young woman," said the commandant, making his
favourite grimace, " that is no business of yours."

But Mile, de Verneuil, no less irritated at the soldier's
tone than at his words, and most of all at the humilia-
tion to which she was subjected before a man who had

Q

114 THE CHOUANS.

taken a fancy to her, started up, and dropped at once the
modest ingSnue air which she had maintained hitherto.
Her face flushed and her eyes sparkled.

" Tell me, has this young man complied with the law's
demands ? " she continued, not raising her voice, but with
a certain quiver in it.

"Yes; in appearance," .said Hulot ironically.

" Then you will be good enough to let him alone in
appearance',' said she. " Are you afraid of his escaping you ?
You can escort him with me to Mayenne, and he will be in
the coach with his lady mother. Not a word: I will have it so.
What !" she went on, seeing that Hulot was still indulging
in his favourite grimace. " Do you still think him a
suspect ? "

" Well, yes, a little."

" What do you want to do with him ? "

" Nothing but cool his head with a little lead. He is a
featherbrain," said the commandant, still ironically.

" Are you joking, colonel ? " cried Mile, de Verneuil.

" Come, my fine fellow," said the commandant, nodding
to the sailor, " come along ! "

At this impertinence of Hulot's, Mile, de Verneuil re-
covered her composure, and smiled.

" Do not stir," said she to the young man, with a dignified
gesture of protection.

"What a beautiful head !" whispered he to his mother,
who bent her brows.

Annoyance and a mixture of irritated but mastered feelings
shed indeed fresh beauties over the fair Parisian's coun-
tenance. Francine, Madame du Gua, and her son had all
risen. Mile, de Verneuil sprang between them and the
commandant, who had a smile on his face, and quickly tore
open two fastenings of her spencer. Then, with a precipi-
tate action, blinded by the passion of a woman whose self-

A NOTION OF POUCHES. \\%

love has been wounded, and as gi^eedy of the exercise of
power as a child is of trying his new toy, she thrust towards
Hulot an open letter.

" Read that ! " she said to him with a sneer.

And she turned towards the young man, at whom, in the
excitement of her victory, she darted a glance where love
mingled with malicious triumph. The brows of both cleared ;
their faces flushed with pleasure, and their souls were filled
with a thousand conflicting emotions. By a single look,
Madame du Gua on her side showed that, not without
reason, she set down this generous conduct of Mile, de
Verneuil's much more to love than to charity. The fair
traveller at first blushed, and dropped her eyelids modestly,
as she divined the meaning of this feminine expression, but
in face of this kind of accusing menace she raised her head
again proudly and challenged all eyes. As for the comman-
dant, he read with stupefaction a letter bearing the full
ministerial countersign, and commanding all authorities to
obey this mysterious person. Then he drew his sword,
broke it across his knee, and threw down the fragments.

" Mademoiselle," said he, " no doubt you know what you
have to do. But a Republican has his own notions and his
own pride. I am not good at obeying where pretty girls
command. My resignation shall be sent in to the First
Consul to-night, and you will have somebody else than
Hulot to do your bidding. Where I cannot understand I
stand still : especially when it is my business to understand."

There was a moment's silence, but it was soon broken by
the fair Parisian, who stepped up to the commandant, held
out her hand, and said :

" Colonel, though your beard is rather long, you may kiss
this, for you are a man ! "

" I hope so, mademoiselle," said he, depositing clumsily
enough a kiss on this remarkable young woman's hand.

ii6 THE CHOUANS.

" As for you, my fine fellow," he added, shaking his finger
at the young man, " you have had a nice escape ! "

" Commandant," said the stranger, laughing, "it is time
the joke should end. I will go to the district office with
you if you like."

" And will you bring your invisible whistler, Marche-a-
Terre, with you ? "

" Who is Marche-a-Terre ? " said the sailor, with every
mark of unaffected surprise.

" Did not somebody whistle just now ? "

" And if they did," said the stranger, " what have I to do
with the whistling, if you please ? I supposed that the
soldiers whom you had ordered up to arrest me, no doubt
were letting you know of their arrival."

" You really thought that ? "

" Why, yes, egad ! But why don't you drink your claret?
It is very good."

Surprised at the natural astonishment of the sailor, at the
extraordinary levity of his manner, at the youth of his face,
which was made almost childish by his carefully curled fair
hair, the commandant hovered between different suspicions.
Then his glance fell on Madame du Gua, who was trying to
interpret the exchange of looks between her son and Mile,
de Verneuil, and he asked her abruptly :

" Your age, citizeness ? "

" Ah, sir officer ! the laws of our Republic are becoming
very merciless. I am thirty-eight."

" May I be shot if I believe a word of it ! Marche-a-Terre
is here, he whistled, and you are Chouans in disguise!
God's thunder ! I will have the whole inn surrounded and
searched ! "

At that very moment a whistle, of a broken kind, but suf-
ficiently like that which had been heard, rose from the inn
yard, and interrupted the commandant. He rushed into

A NOT/ON OF POUCHES. ti?

the corridor — luckily enough, for it prevented him from
seeing the pallor which his words had caused on Madame du
Gua's cheek. But he found the whistler to be a postilion
who was putting the coach horses to : and laying aside his
suspicions, so absurd did it seem to him that Chouans
should risk themselves in the very centre of Alen^on, he
came back crestfallen.

" I forgive him, but he shall dearly abye later the time he
has made us pass here," whispered the mother in her son's
ear, as Hulot entered the room.

The excellent officer's embarrassed countenance showed
the struggle which his stern sense of duty was carrying on
with his natural kindness. He still looked sulky : perhaps
because he thought he had made a blunder : but he took
the glass of claret, and said :

" Comrade, excuse me, but your school sends the army
such boys for officers "

" Then have the brigands officers more boyish still } "
laughingly asked the sailor, as he called himself.

" For whom did you take my son ?" asked Madame du
Gua.

" For the Gars, the chief sent to the Chouans and the
Vendeans by the London Cabinet, the man whom they call
the Marquis de Montauran."

The commandant still scrutinized attentively the faces of
these two suspicious persons, who gazed at each other with
the peculiar looks which are natural to the self-satisfied and
ignorant, and which may be interpreted by this dialogue :
" Do you know what he means ? " " No, do you ? "
" Don't know anything about it." " Then what c^oes he
mean ? He's dreaming ! " And then follows the sly jeering
laugh of a fool who thinks himself triumphant.

The sudden alteration in manner of Mile, de Verneuil,
who seemed struck dumb at hearing the name of the Royalist

ii8 THE CHOUANS.

general, was lost on all except P^rancine, who alone knew
the scarcely distinguishable changes of her young mistress's
face. The commandant, completely driven from his position,
picked up the pieces of his sword, stared at Mile, de Verneuil,
whose ebullition of feeling had found the weak place in his
heart, and said to her :

" As for you, mademoiselle, I do not unsay what 1 have
said. And to-morrow these fragments of my sword shall
find their way to Bonaparte, unless "

" And what do I care for Bonaparte, and your Republic, and
the Chouans, and the King, and the Gars ?" cried she, hardly
checking a display of temper which was in doubtful taste.

Either actual passion or some unknown caprice sent flashes
of colour through her face, and it was easy to see that the
girl would care nothing for the whole world as soon as she
had fixed her affections on a single human being. But with
equal suddenness she forced herself to be once more calm,
when she saw that the whole audience had bent their looks
on her as on some consummate actor. The commandant
abruptly left the room, but Mile, de Verneuil followed
him, stopped him in the passage and asked him in a grave
tone :

" Have you then really strong reasons for suspecting this
young man of being the Gars ^. "

"God's thunder! mademoiselle, the fellow who travels
with you came to warn me that the passengers in the mail
had been assassinated by the Chouans, which I knew before.
But what I did not know was the name of the dead
travellers. It was Du Gua Saint-Cyr."

" Oh ! if Corentin is at the bottom of it," said she with a
contemptuous gesture, " I am surprised at nothing."

The commandant retired without daring to look at Mile,
de Verneuil, whose perilous beauty already made his
heart beat. " Had 1 waited a minute longer," he said to

ji NOTION OF POUCHES. 119

himself as he went downstairs, " I should have been fool
enough to pick up my sword in order to escort her."

When she saw the young man's eyes rivetted on the door
by which Mile, de Verneuil had left the room, Madame du
Gua whispered to him, " What ! always the same .'' women
will certainly be your ruin. A doll like that makes you
forget everything. Why did you allow her to breakfast with
us ? What sort of a person is a daughter of the house of
Verneuil who accepts invitations from strangers, is escorted
by Blues, and disarms them with a letter which she carries
like a billet-doux in her bosom ? She is one of the loose
women by whose aid Fouche hopes to seize you, and the
letter she showed was given to her in order to command the
services of the Blues against yourself! "

" But, madame," said the young man, in a tone so sharp
that it cut the lady to the heart and blanched her cheeks,
" her generosity gives the lie to your theory. Pray remember
that we are associated by nothing save the King's business.
After you have had Charette at your feet, is there another
man in the world for you? Have you another purpose in
life than to avenge him ? "

The lady stood whelmed in thought, like a man who from
the beach sees the shipwreck of his fortune and covets it
only the more ardently. But as Mile, de Verneuil re-entered
the young sailor exchanged with her a smile and a glance
instinct with gentle raillery. Doubtful as the future might
be, short-lived as might be their intimacy, hope told none
the less her flattering tale. Swift as it was, the glance could
not escape the shrewdness of Madame du Gua, who under-
stood it well. Her brow clouded lightly but immediately,
and her face could not hide her jealous thoughts. Francine
kept her gaze on this lady ; she saw her eyes flash, her cheeks
flush ; she thought she could discern the countenance of one
inspired by some hellish fancy, mastered by some terrible

THE CHOUANS.

revulsion of thought. But hghtning is not swifter, nor death
more sudden than was the flight of this expression : and
Madame du Gua recovered her cheerfulness of look with
such self-command that Francine thought she must have

been under a delusion. Neverthe-
less, recognizing in the woman a
masterfulness of spirit at least
equal to that of Mile, de
Verneuil, she shuddered
as she foresaw the terrible
conflicts likely to occur
between two minds of the
same temper, and trem-
bled as she saw Mile, de
Verneuil advance
towards the young
officer, casting on
him a passionate
and intoxicating
,:ic , glance, drawing him
iir towards herself with

both hands, and
turning his face to
the light with a ges-
ture half coquettish
and half malicious.
" Now tell me
the truth," said she, trying to read it in his eyes. " You are
not the Citizen Du Gua Saint-Cyr ? "
" Yes, I am, mademoiselle."

" But his mother and he were killed the day before
yesterday ! "

" I am extremely sorry," said he, laughing, "but however
that is, I am all the same your debtor in a fashion for which

-n„.,ll..

ri NOTION OF FOUC MIL'S. 121

I shall ever be most grateful to you, and I only wish I were
in a position to prove my gratitude."

" I thought I had saved an emigrant : but I like you
better as a Republican."

Yet, no sooner had these words, as if by thoughtlessness,
escaped her lips, than she became confused, she blushed to
her very eyes, and her whole bearing showed a deliciously
naive emotion. She dropped the officer's hands as if
reluctantly, and urged, not by any shame at having clasped
them, but by some impulse which was too much for her heart,
she left him intoxicated with hope. Then she seemed
suddenly to' reproach herself with this freedom, authorized
though it might seem to be by their passing adventures of
travel, resumed a conventional behaviour, bowed to her two
fellow-travellers, and, disappearing with Francine, sought
their apartment. As they reached it, Francine entwined
her fingers, turned the palms of her hands upwards with a
twist of the arms, and said, gazing at her mistress :

" Ah ! Marie, how much has happened in a little time !
Who but you would have adventures of this kind ? "

Mile, de Verneuil threw herself with a bound on Francine's
neck. " Ah ! " said she, " this is life ! I am in heaven ! "

"In hell, it may be," said Francine.

" Oh ! hell if you like," said Mile, de Verneuil merrily.
" Here, give me your hand. Feel my heart how it beats.
I am in a fever. I care nothing for the whole world. How
often have I seen that man in my dreams ! What a beautiful
head he has ! what a flashing eye ! "

" Will he love you ? " asked the simple, straightforward
peasant girl, in a lowered tone, her face dashed with
sadness.

" Can you ask such a question ? " said Mile, de Verneuil.
" But tell me, Francine," she added, assuming an air half
serious and half comic, " is he so very hard to please ? "

R

122 THE CHOUANS.

"Yes, but will he love you always ?" replied Francine,
with a smile.

Both girls looked at each other for a time surprised,
Francine at showing so much knowledge of life, Marie at
perceiving for the first time a promise of happiness in an
amorous adventure. So she remained silent, like one who
leans over a precipice, the depth of which he would gauge
by waiting for the thud of a pebble that he has cast in care-
lessly enough at first.

" Ah ! that is my business," said she, with the gesture of a
gambler who plays his last stake. " I have no pity for a
forsaken woman ; she has only herself to blame if she is
deserted. I have no fear of keeping, dead or alive, the
man whose heart has once belonged to me. But," she
added after a moment's silence, and in a tone of surprise,
" how do you come to be so knowing as this, Francine ? "

" Mademoiselle," said the young girl eagerly, " I hear
steps in the passage."

" Ah," said she, listening, " it is not he ; but," she continued,
" that is your answer, is it ? I understand. I will wait for
your secret, or guess it."

Francine was right. The conversation was interrupted
by three taps at the door : and Captain Merle, on hearing
the " Come in!" which Mile, de Verneuil addressed to him,
quickly entered. The captain made a soldierly bow to the
lady, venturing to throw a glance at her at the same time,
and was so dazzled by her beauty that he could find
nothing to say to her but " Mademoiselle, I am at your
orders."

" Have you become my guardian in virtue of the resig-
nation of the chief of your demi-brigade ? That is what
they call your regiment, is it not ? "

" My superior officer is Adjutant-Major Gerard, by whose
orders I come."

M NOTION OF POUCHES. 123

" Is your commandant then so much afraid of me ? "
asked she.

"Pardon me, mademoiselle, Hulot fears nothing: but
you see, ladies are not exactly in his way, and it vexed him
to find his general wearing a kerchief."

" Yet," retorted Mile, de Verneuil. " it was his duty to
obey his chiefs. I like obedience, I warn you, and I will
not have people resist me."

" That would be difficult," answered Merle.

" Let us take counsel together," said Mile, de Verneuil.
" You have some fresh men here. They shall escort me to
Mayenne, which I can reach this evening. Can we find
other troops there so as to go on without stopping ? The
Chouans know nothing of our little expedition ; and by
travelling thus at night we shall have very bad luck indeed
if we find them in numbers strong enough to attack us.
Come, tell me ; do you think this feasible ? "

" Yes, mademoiselle."

"What sort of a road is it from Mayenne to Fougeres?"

" A rough one ; the going is all up and down : a regular
squirrel's country."

" Let us be off, then," said she ; " and as there is no danger
in going out of Alen9on, you set out first. We shall easily
catch you up."

" One would think she was an officer of ten years'
standing," said Merle to himself, as he went out. " Hulot
is wrong. The girl is not one of those who draw their
rents from down feathers. Odds cartridges ! If Captain
Merle wishes to become an adjutant-major, he had better not
mistake St. Michael for the devil."

While Mile, de Verneuil was conferring with the captain,
Francine had left the room, intending to examine through
a passage window a certain spot in the courtyard, whither,
from the moment she had entered the inn, an irresistible

124

THE CHOUANS.

curiosity had attracted lier. She gazed at the straw in the
stable with such profound attention that you might have
thought her deep in prayer before a statue of the Virgin.
Very soon she perceived Madame du
Gua making her way towards Marche a-
Terre as carefully as a cat afraid of
wetting her paws. The Chouan no
sooner saw the lady than he rose and
observed towards her an attitude of
the deepest respect, — a sin-
gular circumstance, which
roused Francine's curiosity
still more. She darted into
the yard, stole along the
wall so as not to be seen by
Madame du Gua, and tried
to hide herself behind the
stable door. By stepping on
tiptoe, holding her
breath, and avoiding
the slightest noise,
she succeeded in po.st-
ing herself close to
Marche-a-Terre with-
out exciting his at-
tention.

"And if," said the strange lady to the Chouan, "after all
these inquiries, you find that it is not her name, shoot her
without mercy, as you would a mad dog."
" I understand," said Marche-k-Terre.
The lady retired, and the Chouan replacing his red
woollen cap on his head, remained standing, and was
scratching his ear after the fashion of puzzled men, when
he saw Francine stand before him, as if by enchantment.

Hdninlli

A* NOTION OF POUCHES. 125

" Saint Anne of Auray ! " cried he, suddenly dropping his
whip, folding his hands, and remaining in a state of ecstasy.
His coarse face was tinged with a slight flush, and his eyes
flashed like diamonds lost in the mud.

"Is it really Cottin's wench.'*" he said, in a low voice,
that none but himself could hear. "Ah, but you are brave!"
{godaine), said he, after a pause. This odd word godain,
or godaine, is part of the patois of the district, and supplies
lovers with a superlative to express the conjunction of
beauty and finery.

" I should be afraid to touch you," added Marche-a-
Terre, who nevertheless advanced his broad hand towards
Francine, as if to make sure of the weight of a thick gold
chain which surrounded her neck and fell down to her waist.

" You had better not, Pierre," answered Francine, in-
spired by the feminine instinct which makes a woman
tyrannize whenever she is not tyrannized over.

She stepped haughtily back, after enjoying the Chouan's
surprise. But she made up for the harshness of her words
by a look full of kindness, and drew near to him again.

" Pierre," said she, " that lady was talking to you ' of my
young mistress, was she not ?"

Marche-a-Terre stood dumb, with a struggle going on in
his face like that at dawn between light and darkness. He
gazed by turns at Francine, at the great whip which he had
let fall, and at the gold chain which seemed to exercise
over him a fascination not less than that of the Breton girl's
face. Then, as if to put an end to his own disquiet, he
picked up his whip, but said no word.

' Marche-k-Terre, in his awe at Francine's finery, and she, in her desire
to play the lady, have used voiis, which the original italicizes. Both adopt
the familiar tu henceforth. But the second person singular is so awkward
in ordinary English, that it seems better adjusted, with this warning, to the
common use. — Translator's Note.

126 THE CHOUANS.

"Oh!" said Francine, who knew his inviolable fidelity,
and wished to dispel his suspicions, " it is not hard to
guess that this lady bade you kill my mistress."

Marche-a-Terre dropped his head in a significant manner,
which was answer enough for " Cottin's wench."

" Well, Pierre, if the least harm happens to her, if a hair
of her head is injured, we have looked our last at one
another here for time and for eternity ! I shall be in Paradise
then, and you in hell ! "

No demoniac just about to undergo exorcism in form by
the church was ever more agitated than Marche-a-Terre
by this prediction, pronounced with a confidence which
gave it a sort of certainty. The expression of his eyes,
charged at first with a savage tenderness, then struck by a
fanatical sense of duty as imperious as love itself, turned to
ferocity, as he perceived the masterful air of the innocent girl
who had once been his love. But Francine interpreted the
Chouan's silence in her own fashion.

" You will do nothing for me, then ?" she said, in a re-
proachful tone.

At these words, the Chouan cast on his mistress a glance
as black as a raven's wing.

"Are you your own mistress?" growled he, in a tone
that Francine alone could understand.

" Should I be where I am ? " said she indignantly. " But
what are you doing here ? You are still Chouanning, you
are prowling along the highways like a mad animal trying
to bite. Oh, Pierre ! if you were sensible you would come
with me. This pretty young lady (who, I should tell you,
was brought up at our house at home,) has taken care of
me. I have two hundred good livres a year. Mademoiselle
has bought me Uncle Thomas's great house for five hun-
dred crowns, and I have two thousand livres saved from
my wages."

> NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 127

But her smile and the list of her riches made no im-
pression on Marche-a-Terre's stolid air. " The rectors
have given the word for war," said he ; " every Blue we
lay low is good for an indulgence."

" But perhaps the Blues will kill you ! "

His only answer was to let his arms drop by his sides,
as if to apologize for the smallness of his offering to God
and the King.

" And what would become of me ? " asked the young
girl sorrowfully.

Marche-a-Terre gazed at Francine as if stupefied : his
eyes grew in size, and there dropped from them two tears,
which trickled in parallel lines down his hairy cheeks on
to his goatskin raiment, while a dull groan came from his
breast.

" Saint Anne of Auray ! Pierre, is this all you have to
say to me after seven years' parting ? How you have
changed ! "

" I love you still and always," answered the Chouan
roughly.

" No," she whispered, " the King comes before me."

" If you look at me like that," he said, " I must go."

" Good-bye ! then," she said sadly.

" Good-bye ! " repeated March-a-Terre. He seized Fran-
cine's hand, squeezed it, kissed it, crossed himself, and plunged
into the stable like a dog that has just stolen a bone.

" Pille-Miche," said he to his comrade, " I cannot see my
way. Have you got your snuff-mull ? "

" Oh ! cri bleu . . . what a fine chain ! " answered Pille-
Miche, groping in a pocket under his goatskin. Then he held
out to Marche-a-Terre one of the little conical horn boxes in
which Bretons put the finely powdered tobacco which they
grind for themselves during the long winter evenings. The
Chouan raised his thumb so as to make in his left hand the

128

THE C HO VANS.

hollow wherein old soldiers measure their pinches of snuff,
and shook the mull (whose tip Pille-Miche had screwed off)
hard. An impalpable powder fell slowly through the little hole
at the point of this Breton implement.
Marche-a-Terre repeated the operation >3>^

without speaking seven or eight
times, as if the C. ^

powder possessed
the gift of changing
his thoughts. All /■
of a sudden he let
a gesture of despair
escape him, threw

/^ »*«••<

4lcu>ill.

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 129

the mull to Pille-Miche, and picked up a rifle hidden in
the straw.

"It is no good taking seven or eight pinches like that
right off," said the miserly Pille-Miche.

" Forward ! " cried Marche-a-Terre hoarsely. " There is
work to do." And some thirty Chouans who were sleeping
under the mangers and in the straw, lifted their heads, saw
Marche-a-Terre standing, and promptly disappeared by a
door opening on to gardens, whence the fields could be
reached.

When Francine left the stables, she found the coach ready
to start. Mile, de Verneuil and her two fellow-travellers
had already got in, and the Breton girl shuddered as she
saw her mistress facing the horses, by the side of the woman
who had just given orders for her death. The " suspect "
placed himself opposite to Marie : and as soon as Francine
had taken her place, the heavy vehicle set off at a smart
trot.

The sun had already dispelled the grey mists of an autumn
morning : and its rays gave to the melancholy fields a
certain lively air of holiday youth. It is the wont of lovers to
take these atmospheric changes as omens : but the silence
which for some time prevailed among the travellers struck
Francine as singular. Mile, de Verneuil had recovered her air
of indifference, and sat with lowered eyes, her head slightly
leaning to one side, and her hands hidden in a kind of
mantle which she had put on. If she raised her eyes at all
it was to view the landscape which, shifting rapidly, flitted
past them. Entertaining no doubt of admiration, she
seemed wilfully to refuse opportunity for it : but her apparent
nonchalance indicated coquetry rather than innocence. The
touching purity which gives so sweet an accord to the
varying expressions in which tender and weak souls reveal
themselves, seemed powerless to lend its charm to a being

s

130 THE CHOUANS.

whose strong feelings destined her as the prey of stormy
passion. Full, on his side, of the joy which the beginning
of a flirtation gives, the stranger did not as yet trouble
himself with endeavouring to harmonize the discord that
existed between the coquetry and the sincere enthusiasm of
this strange girl. It was enough for him that her feigned
innocence permitted him to gaze at will on a face as beautiful
in its calm, as it had just been in its agitation. We are not
prone to quarrel with that which gives us delight.

It is not easy for a pretty woman in a carriage to with-
draw from the gaze of her companions, whose eyes are fixed
on her as if seeking an additional pastime to beguile the
tedium of travel. Therefore, congratulating himself on
being able to satisfy the hunger of his rising passion without
its being possible for the strange lady either to avoid his
eyes or be offended at their persistence, the young officer
studied to his heart's content, and as if he had been
examining a picture, the pure and dazzling lines of her face.
Now the day brought out the pink transparence of the
nostrils and the double curve which formed a junction
between the nose and the upper lip. Now a paler sunbeam
played on the tints of the complexion — pearly-white under
the eyes and round the mouth, roseate on the cheeks,
creamy towards the temples and on the neck. He admired
the contrasts of light and shade produced by the hair which
surrounded the face with its raven tresses, giving it a fresh
and passing grace ; for with woman everything is fugitive.
Her beauty of to-day is often not that of yesterday, and it
is lucky for her, perhaps, that it is so. Thus the self-styled
sailor, still in that age when man enjoys the nothings that
make up the whole of love, watched delightedly the succes-
sive movements of the eyelids and the ravishing play which
each breath gave to the bosom. Sometimes, his will and
his thoughts in unison, he spied a harmony between the

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 131

expression of the eyes and the faint movements of the lips.
Each gesture showed him a new soul, each movement a
new facet in this young girl. If a thought disturbed her
mobile features, if a sudden flush passed over them, if they
were illumined by a smile, his delight in endeavouring to
guess the mysterious lady's secrets was infinite. The whole
of her was a trap for soul and sense at once, and their
silence, far from raising a barrier between the exchange of
their hearts, gave their thoughts common ground. More
than one glance in which her eyes met the stranger's told
Marie de Verneuil that this silence might become com-
promising : and she accordingly put to Madame du Gua
some of the trivial questions which start a conversation,
though she could not keep the son out of her talk with the
mother.

"How. madame," said she, "could you make up your
mind to send your son into the navy ? is not this a sentence
of perpetual anxiety on yourself ? "

" Mademoiselle, it is the lot of women — I mean of mothers
— to tremble always for their dearest treasures."

" Your son is very like you ! "

" Do you think so, mademoiselle ? "

This unconscious endorsement of the age which Madame
du Gua had assigned to herself made the young man smile,
and inspired his so-called mother with fresh annoyance.
Her hatred grew at every fresh glance of love which her
son threw at Marie. Whether they spoke or were silent,
everything kindled in her a hideous rage, disguised under
the most insinuatingf manners.

" Mademoiselle," said the stranger, " you are wrong.
Sailors are not more exposed to danger than other warriors.
Indeed there is no reason for women to hate the navy : for
have we not over the land services the immense advantage
of remaining faithful to our mistresses ? "

132 THE CHOUANS.

" Yes : because you cannot help it," replied Mile, de
Verneuil, laughing.

"It is a kind of faithfulness, all the same," said Madame
du Gua in a tone which was almost sombre.

But the conversation became livelier, and occupied itself
with subjects of no interest to any but the three travellers.
For in such a situation persons of intelligence are able to
give a fresh meaning to mere commonplaces. But the talk,
frivolous as it seemed, which these strangers chose to inter-
change, hid the desires, the passions, the hopes which
animated them. Marie's constantly wide-awake subtlety
and her aggressive wit taught Madame du Gua that only
slander and false dealing could give her advantage over a
rival as redoubtable in intellect as in beauty. But the
travellers now caught up their escort and their vehicle began
to move less rapidly. The young sailor saw in front a long
stretch of ascent, and suggested to Mile, de Verneuil that she
should get out and walk. His good manners and attentive
politeness apparently had their effect on the fair Parisian,
and he felt her consent as a compliment.

" Is madame of our mind?" asked she of Madame du
Gua. "Will she join our walk ?"

" Coquette ! " said the lady as she alighted.

Marie and the stranger walked together, but with an
interval between them. The sailor, already a prey to
tyrannous desire, was eager to dispel the reserve which she
showed towards him, and the nature of which he did not
fail to see. He thought to do so by jesting with the fair
stranger under cover of that old French gaiety — that spirit,
now frivolous, now grave, but always chivalrous, though
often mocking — which was the note of the more distin-
guished men among the exiled aristocracy. But the lively
Parisian girl rallied the young Republican so maliciously,
and contrived to insinuate such a contemptuous expression

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

133

of reproach for his attempts at frivoHty, while showing a
marked preference for the bold and enthusiastic ideas which
in spite of himself shone through his discourse, that he

could not miss the way to win
her. The talk therefore
changed its character,
and the stranger soon
showed that the hopes
inspired by
his expressive
countenance
were not de-

lU'fiip^^

+I....M

lusive. Each moment he found new difficulties in compre-
hending the siren with whom he fell more and more in love,
and was obliged to suspend his judgment in reference to a
girl who seemed to amuse herself by contradicting each
opinion that he formed of her. Enticed at first by the

134 THE CHOUANS.

contemplation of her physical beauty, he felt himself now
attracted towards her unknown mind by a curiosity which
Marie took pleasure in kindling. The conversation little
by little assumed a character of intimacy very foreign to the
air of indifference which Mile, de Verneuil tried unsuccess-
fully to infuse into it. Although Madame du Gua had
followed the lovers, they had unconsciously walked quicker
than she did : and were soon some hundred paces ahead.
The handsome couple trod the fine gravel of the road, de-
lighted like children in keeping step as their paces sounded
lightly, happy in the rays of light which wrapped them as
in spring sunshine, and in breathing together the autumnal
perfume, so rich in vegetable spoils that it seemed a food
brought by the winds to nourish the melancholy of young
love.' Although both agreed in seeming to see nothing but
an ordinary chance in their momentary connection, the
heavens, the scene, and the season gave their emotion a
touch of seriousness which had the air of passion. They
began to praise the beauty of the day : then they talked of
their strange meeting, of the approaching breach of so
pleasant an acquaintance, of the ease with which one becomes
intimate while travelling with people who are lost to sight
almost as soon as seen. After this remark the young man
availed himself of the unspoken leave which seemed to be
granted him to edge in some tender confidences, and en-
deavoured to risk a declaration in the style of a man accus-
tomed to the situation.

" Have you noticed, mademoiselle," said he, " how little
feeling cares to keep in the beaten track during these terrible
times of ours ? Are not all our circumstances full of surprise
and of the inexplicable ? We men of to-day love, we hate,
on the strength of a single glance. At one moment we are

' This I fear is what Balzac's own countrymen would call galimatias.
But it is what Balzac wrote. — Translator's Note.

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 135

united for lite, at another we part with the swiftness of those
who march to death. We are always in a hurry, like the
nation itself in its tumults. In the midst of danger men
join hands more quickly than in the jog-trot of ordinary life,
and in these latter days at Paris all have known, as if on a
battle-field, what a single hand-clasp can tell."

" Men felt the need of living hard and fast," she answered,
" because there was but a short time to live." And then,
glancing at her young companion in a way which seemed to
foretell the end of their brief journey, she said, a little
maliciously : " For a young man who is just leaving the
School, you are well up in the affairs of life."

"What do you really think of me ?" said he, after a
moment's silence. " Tell me your opinion without sparing."

" I suppose you wish to purchase the right of giving me
yours of me ?" she replied, laughing.

" That is no answer," said he, after a brief pause. " Take
care ! Silence itself is often a reply."

" But have I not guessed everything you meant to say to
me ? You have said too much as it is."

" Oh ! if we understand each other," said he, with a laugh,
" you have given me more than I dared hope."

She smiled so graciously that it seemed as if she accepted
the courteous challenge with which all men love to threaten
a woman. So they took it for granted, half seriously, half in
jest, that they never could be to each other anything else
than that which they were at the moment. The young man
might abandon himself if he liked to a hopeless passion, and
Marie might mock it. So, having thus erected between them
an imaginary barrier, they appeared both eager to profit by
the rash licence for which they had bargained. Suddenly
Marie struck her foot against a stone, and stumbled.

" Take my arm," said the stranger.

" I must needs do so, you giddy-pate," said she. " You

136 THE C HO VANS.

would be too proud if I refused. I should seem to be afraid
of you."

" Ah ! mademoiselle," answered he, pressing her arm
that she might feel the beating of his heart, " you will make
me proud of this favour."

" Well, the ease with which I consent will dispel your
illusions."

" Would you protect me already against the danger of the
feelings which you yourself inspire ? "

" Pray leave off trying to entangle me," said she, " in these
little boudoir fancies, these word-puzzles of my lady's
chamber. I do not like to see in a man of your character
the kind of wit that fools can have. See ! we are under a
lovely sky, in the open country ; before us, above us, all is
grand. You mean to tell me that I am beautiful, do you
not ? Your eyes have told me that already, and besides, I
know it. Nor am I a woman who is flattered by compliments.
Would you perchance talk to me of your feelings ? " she
said, with an ironic stress on the word. " Do you think
me silly enough to believe in a sudden sympathy strong
enough to throw over a whole life the masterful memory of
a single morning ?"

" Not of a morning," answered he, " but of a beautiful
woman who has shown herself a generous one as well."

" You forget," she rejoined, with a laugh, " attractions
greater than these. I am a stranger to you, and my name,
my quality, my position, my self-possession in mind and
manners — all must seem extraordinary to you."

"You are no stranger to me," cried he; " I have divined you
already, and I would have nothing added to your perfections
except a little more faith in the love which you inspire at
first sight ! "

" Ah ! my poor boy of seventeen, you talk of /i9Z'^ already? "
said she, smiling. "Well, so be it. . . . 'Tis a topic of conver-

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 137

sation between man and woman, like the weather at a
morning call. So let us take it. You will find in me no
false modesty and no littleness of mind. I can listen to the
word 'love' without blushing. It has been said to me so
often with no heart-accent in it, that it has become almost
meaningless. I have heard it in theatres, in books, in
society, everywhere. But I have never met anything which
corresponded in fact to the magnificent sentiments which it
implies. "

" Have you tried to find it .''"

" Yes."

The word was said with such unreserve that the young
man started and stared at Marie as if he had changed his
mind suddenly as to her character and station.

" Mademoiselle," said he, with ill-concealed emotion, " are
you a girl or a woman, an angel or a fiend ? "

" I am both," replied she, laughing. "Is there not always
something angelic and something diabolic as well in a young
girl who has never loved, who does not love, and who perhaps
will never love ? "

"And yet you are happy .''" said he, with a greater freedom
of tone and manner, as if he already thought less respectfully
of her who had delivered him.

"Oh! "she said. "Happy? No! When I meditate by
myself, and feel myself mastered by the social conventions
which make me artificial, I envy the privileges of men. But
when I reflect on all the means which nature has given us to
surround you, to wrap you in the meshes of an invisible
power which none of you can resist, then my part in this
comedy here below looks more promising to me. And then
again it seems to me wretched, and I feel that I should despise
a man if he were the dupe of ordinary allurements. To be
brief, at one time I see the yoke we bear, and it pleases me,
then it seems horrible, and I revolt. At another I feel that

T

'38

THE CHOUANS.

aspiration of seif-sacrihce which makes woman so fair and
noble a thing, only to experience afterwards a devouring
desire of power. Perhaps it is but the natural fight of the
good and evil principle which makes up the life of all creatures

that on earth do dwell. Both
angel and fiend — you have said
it! It is not to-day that I came
to know my double nature. Yet
we women know our weakness
better than you do. Do we
not possess an instinct which
makes us look in everything
towards a perfection too
certainly impossible of
attainment ? But," she
added with a sigh, and a
glance towards heaven,
" what ennobles us in

our own eyes

" Is what ? " said he.
" Why," said she,
" that we all of us, more
or less, maintain the
-ftlp.,,11. ^'^ struggle against our

fated incompleteness."
" Mademoiselle, why should we part to-night ? "
" Ah ! " she said, with a smile at the fiery glance which
the young man darted on her, " we had better get into the
carriage, the open air is not good for us."

Marie turned sharply on her heel, and the stranger
followed, pressing her arm with a vigour which was hardly re-
spectful, but which expressed at once adoration and tyrannous
desire. She quickened her steps : the sailor perceived that
she wished to avoid a perhaps inopportune declaration, but

4 NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 139

this only increased his fervour, and setting all to the touch
in order to gain a first favour from the girl, he said to her
with an arch look :

" Shall I tell you a secret ? "

" Tell it at once if it concerns yourself."

" I am not in the service of the Republic. Whither are
you going ? I will go too."

As he spoke, Marie trembled violently, drew her arm from
his, and covered her face with both hands to veil, it might
be a flush, it might be a pallor, which changed her appearance.
But she uncovered it almost immediately, and said in a
tender tone :

" You have begun then, as you would have finished, by
deceiving me } "

" Yes," he said.

At this answer she turned her back on the bulky vehicle
towards which they were advancing, and began almost to
run in the opposite direction.

"But," said the stranger, "just now the air did not
agree with you ! "

" Oh ! it has changed," said she gravely, and still walking
on, a prey to stormy thoughts.

" You are silent," asked the stranger, whose heart was
full of the sweet flutter of apprehension which the expec-
tation of pleasure brings with it.

"Oh!" she said shortly, "the tragedy has been prompt
enough in beginning."

" What tragedy do you mean .-' " asked he.

She stopped and scanned the cadet from head to foot,
with an expression compact of fear and interest both : then
she hid the feelings which agitated her under an air of
profound calm, showing that, for a young girl, she had no
small experience of life.

" Who are you ? " she said. " But I know. When I saw

I40 THE CHOUANS.

you, I suspected it. You are the Royalist chief they call
the Gars. The ex- Bishop of Autun is right in telling us
always to believe in presentiments of evil."

" What concern have you in knowing that person ?"

" What concern could he have in hiding himself from me,
who have already saved his life ? "

She spoke with a forced laugh, and went on, " It was
prudent of me to hinder your declaration of love. Know,
sir, that I hate you ! I am a Republican, you a Royalist :
and I would give you up if my word were not pledged to
you, if I had not already saved you once, and if "

She stopped. This violent flux and reflux of thought,
this struggle which she cared no longer to hide, gave the
stranger some uneasiness, and he tried, but in vain, to sound
her intention.

" Let us part at once. I will have it so. Good-bye ! "
she said, and turning abruptly, she made a step or two ; but
then came back.

" No ! " she continued, " my interest in learning who you
are is too great. Hide nothing from me, and tell me the
truth. Who are you ? For are you just as much a cadet of
the School as you are a boy of seventeen "

" I am a sailor, ready to quit the sea, and follow you
whithersoever your fancy guides me. If I am fortunate
enough to excite your curiosity by anything mysterious
about me, I shall take good care not to put an end to it.
What is the good of mixing up the serious concerns of
everyday life with the life of the heart in which we were
beginning to understand each other so well 1 "

" Our souls might have understood each other," she said
gravely. " But, sir, I have no right to claim your con-
fidence. You will never know the extent of your obligations
to me : and I shall hold my peace."

They walked some distance without uttering a word.

A NOT/ON OF FOUCHE'S.

141

" You seem to take a great interest in my life," said
stranger.

" Sir," she said, " I beg you tell me
your real name, or say nothing ! You are Av d'ji

childish," she added, with a shrug
of her shoulders, " and I am sorry - C
for you."

The fair traveller's persistency
in trying to divine his secret made
the self-styled sailor hesitate be-
tween prudence and his desires.
The vexation of a woman whom
we covet is a powerful at-
traction : her very sub-
mission is as conquering
as her anger ; it attacks so
many chords in a man's
heart that it penetrates
and subjugates the heart

the

itself. Was Mile, de Verneuil
merely trying a fresh trick of
coquetry? In spite of his passion, the stranger had self-
command enough to be mistrustful of a woman who was so
desperately set on tearing from him a secret of life and
death.

" Why," he said, taking her hand, which she let him take

142 THE CHOUANS.

in absence of mind, " why has my indiscretion, which
seemed to give a future to this day, destroyed its charm
instead ? " But Mile, de Verneuil, who seemed in distress,
was silent. " How have I hurt you?" he went on, "and
how can I soothe you ? "

" Tell me your name."

Then the two walked in silence, and they made some
progress thus. Suddenly Mile, de Verneuil halted, like a
person who has made up her mind on a point of importance :

" Marquis of Montauran," said she with dignity, and yet
not quite successfully disguising an agitation that made her
features quiver nervously, " whatever it may cost me, I
am happy to be able to do you a service. We must part
here. The escort and the coach are too necessary to your
safety for you to refuse either one or the other. Fear
nothing from the Republicans : all these soldiers, look you,
are men of honour, and the adjutant will faithfully execute
the orders which I am about to give him. For my part, I
can easily regain Alen^on with my maid : some soldiers
will accompany us. Heed me well, for your life is at stake.
If before you are in safety you meet the hideous dandy
whom you saw at the inn, fly, for he will give you up

at once. For me " She paused. " For me, I plunge

back with pride into the petty cares of life." And then she
went on in a low voice, and choking back her tears, " Good-
bye, sir ! May you be happy ! Good-bye ! " And she
beckoned to Captain Merle, who was just reaching the
brow of the hill. The young man was not prepared for
so sudden an ending. "Wait!" he cried, with a kind of
despair, cleverly enough feigned. The girl's strange whim
surprised the stranger so much that, though he would at
the moment have laid down his life for her, he devised a
most reprehensible trick in order at once to hide his name
and to satisfy Mile, de Verneuil's curiosity.

A ^NOTION OF POUCHES. 143

" You have nearly guessed it," he said. " I am an emigrant,
under sentence of death, and I am called the. Vicomte de
Bauvan. Love of my country has brought me back to
France, to my brother's side. I hope to have my name
erased from the list by the aid of Madame de Beauharnais,
now the First Consul's wife: but if I do not succeed in this,
then I will die on my natal soil, fighting by the side of my
friend Montauran. My first object is to go and see, with
the aid of a passport which he has given me, whether any
of my estates in Brittany remain to me."

As the young noble spoke. Mile, de Verneuil examined
him with her keen eye. She tried to doubt the truth of his
words : but, lulled into credulous confidence, she slowly re-
gained her serene expression, and cried, " Sir ! is what you
are telling me true .'' "

" Perfectly true," replied the stranger, whose standard of
honour in dealing with women did not appear to be high.

Mile, de Verneuil drew a deep sigh like one who comes
back to life.

" Ah !" cried she, " I am quite happy."

" Then do you hate my poor Montauran very much ?"

" No," said she. " You cannot understand me. I could
not wishjy^'w to be exposed to dangers, against which I will
try to defend him, since he is your friend."

" Who told you that Montauran is in danger ? "

" Why, sir, even if I did not come from Paris, where
everyone is talking of his enterprise, the commandant at
Alen9on said enough to us about him, I should think."

" Then I must ask you how you can preserve him from
danger ? "

" And suppose I do not choose to answer ? " said she,
with the air of disdain under which women know so well
how to conceal their emotions. " What right have you to
know my secrets ? "

144 THE CHOUANS.

" The right which belongs to a man who loves you."
"What, already?" she said. " No, sir, you do not love
me. You see in me an object of passing gallantry, that is
all. Did I not understand you at once ? Could anyone who
has been accustomed to good society make a mistake, in the
present state of manners, when she heard a cadet of the
Ecole Polytechnique pick his words, and disguise, as clumsily
as you did, the breeding of a gentleman under a Republican
outside ? Why, your very hair has a trace of powder, and
there is an atmosphere of gentility about you which any
woman of fashion must perceive at once. Therefore, trem-
bling lest my overseer, who is as sharp as a woman, should
recognize you, I dismissed him at once. Sir, a real Re-
publican 'ofificer, who had just left the Ecole Polytechnique,
would not fancy himself about to make a conquest of me, or
take me for a pretty adventuress. Permit me, M. de Bauvan,
to lay before you some slight considerations of woman's
wit on this point. Are you so young as not to know that
of all creatures of our sex the most difficult to conquer
is she whose price is quoted in the market, and who is
already weary of pleasure ? Such a woman, they say, requires
immense efforts to win her, and yields only to her own
caprices. To try to excite affection in her is the ne plus
ultra of coxcombry. Putting aside this class of women, with
whom you are gallant enough (since they are all bound to
be beautiful) to rank me, do you not understand that a girl,
young, well-born, beautiful, witty (you allow me all these
gifts), is not for sale, and can be won only in one way — by
loving her .-^ You understand me ? If she loves and chooses
to stoop to folly, she must at least have some greatness of
feeling to excuse her. Pardon me this lavishness of logic, so
rare with those of our sex. But for the sake of your happi-
ness, and," she added, with a bow, " of mine, I would not have
either of us deceived as to the other's real worth, nor would I

A NOTION OF FOUCHR'S. 145

have you think Mademoiselle de Verneuil, be she angel or
fiend, woman or girl, capable of being caught with common-
place gallantries."

" Mademoiselle," said the pretended viscount, whose sur-
prise, though he concealed it, was immense, and who at once
became a man of the finest manners, " I beg you to believe
that I take you for a very noble person, great of heart,
and full of lofty sentiments, or for a kind girl, just as you
choose."

" That is more than I ask for, sir," she said, laughing.
" Leave me my incognito. Besides, I wear my mask better
than you do, and it pleases me to keep it on, were it only
for the purpose of knowing whether people who talk to me
of love are sincere. . . . Therefore, do not play too bold
strokes with me. Listen, sir," she added, grasping his arm
firmly, " if you could convince me that you love me truly, no
power on earth should tear us asunder. Yes ! I would
gladly throw in my lot with some man's great career, wed
with some huge ambition, share some high thoughts. Noble
hearts are not inconstant, for fidelity is one of their strong
points. I should be loved always, always happy. But I
should not be always ready to make myself a ladder whereon
my beloved might mount, to sacrifice myself for him, to bear
all from him, to love him always, even when he had ceased
to love me. I have never yet dared to confide to another
heart the wishes of my own, the passionate enthusiasm which
consumes me : but I may say something of the sort to you,
since we shall part as soon as you are in safety."

" Part ? Never ! " he cried, electrified by the speech of
this energetic soul, that seemed wrestling with mighty
thoughts.

" Are you your own master ?" replied she, with a disdain-
ful glance, which brought him to his level.

"My own master? Yes : except for my sentence of death,"

u

146 THE CHOUANS.

" Then," she said, with a voice full of bitter feeling, " if
all this were not a dream, how fair a life were ours ! But if
I have talked follies, let us do none. When I think of all
that you should be if you are to rate me at my just worth,
everything seems to me doubtful."

" And I should doubt of nothing if you would be mine."

" Hush !" she cried, hearing these words spoken with a
true accent of passion. " The fresh air is getting really too
much for you : let us go to our chaperons."

The coach was not long in catching the couple up : they
took their seats once more, and for some leagues journeyed
in profound silence. But if both had gathered matter for
abundant thought, their eyes were no longer afraid of
meeting. Both seemed equally concerned in watching each
other and in hiding important secrets, but both felt the
mutual attraction of a desire which since their conversation
had acquired the strength and range of a passion : for each
had recognized in the other qualities which promised in
their eyes yet livelier delights, it might be from conflict, it
might be from union. Perchance each of them, already
launched on an adventurous career, had arrived at that
strange condition of mind when, either out of mere weari-
ness, or as a challenge to fate, men simply decline to reflect
seriously on their situation, and abandon themselves to the
chapter of accidents as they pursue their object, precisely
because exit seems hopeless, and they are content to wait
for the fated ending. Has not moral, like physical nature,
gulfs and abysses, where strong minds love to plunge at the
risk of life, as a gambler loves to stake his whole fortune ?
The young noble and Mile, de Verneuil had, as it were, a
glimpse of such ideas as these, which both shared after
the conversation of which they were the natural sequel :
and thus they made a sudden and vast stride in intimacy,
the sympathy of their souls following that of their senses.

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 147

Nevertheless, the more fatally they felt themselves drawn
each to other, the more interest they took in mutual study,
were it only to augment, by the result of unconscious
calculation, the amount of their future joys. The young
man, still astonished at the strange girl's depth of thought,
asked himself first how she managed to combine so much
acquired knowledge with so much freshness and youth.
Next he thought that he could discern a certain strong
desire of appearing innocent in the extreme innocence with
which Marie endeavoured to imbue her ways: he suspected
her of feigning, found fault with himself for his delight, and
tried to see in the strange lady nothing but a clever actress.
He was right. Mile, de Verneuil, like all young women
who have gone much into society, increased her apparent
reserve the warmer were her real feelings, and assumed in
the most natural way in the world the prudish demeanour
under which women are able to veil their most violent
desires. All of them would, if they could, present a virgin
front to passion : and if they cannot, their semblance of it
is still an homage paid to their love. The young noble
thought all this rapidly enough, and it pleased him. For
both, in fact, this exchange of study was sure to be an
advance in love : and the lover soon came, by means of it,
to that phase of passion when a man finds in the very faults
of his mistress, reasons for loving her more. The pensive-
ness of Mile, de Verneuil lasted longer than the emigrant's:
it might be that her lively fancy made her look forward to
a longer future. The young man merely obeyed a single
one of the thousand feelings which his man's life was sure
to make him experience : the girl saw her whole life before
her, and delighted in arranging it in beauty, in filling it with
happiness, with honour, with noble sentiment. Happy in
her own thoughts, as much enamoured of her dreams as of
reality, of the future as of the present, Marie tried to hark

148 THE C HO VANS.

back, so as to clench her hold of the young man's heart —
an instinctive movement with her, as with all women. She
had made up her mind to surrender entirely : but she still
wished, so to say, to haggle over details. She would have
willingly revoked everything that she had done, in speech,
in glance, in action, during the past, so as to make it har-
monize with the dignity of a woman who is loved. And so
her eyes exhibited now and then a kind of affright, as she
thought of the past conversation in which she had taken so
high a ground. But as she looked on his face^ — so full of
vigour — she thought that such a being must be generous
as he was strong : and felt herself happy in a lot fairer than
that of inost other women, in that she had found a lover in
a man with a character of his own, a man who, despite the
sentence of death hanging over his head, had come of his
own accord to stake it, and to make war against the Re-
public. The thought of unshared dominion over such a soul
soon presented the colour of all actual things quite differently
to her. There was the difference of a dead and a living
universe between the time when, some five hours earlier,
she had made up her face and voice to serve as baits for
this gentleman, and the present moment, when a look of
hers could overcome him. Her cheerful laughs, her gay
coquetries, hid a depth of passion which presented itself,
like misfortune, with a smile. In the state of mind in which
Mile, de Verneuil then was, outward existence seemed to
her a mere phantasmagoria. The coach passed villages,
valleys, hills, whereof no impression charged her memory.
She came to Mayenne ; the soldiers of the escort were
relieved. Merle spoke to her, she answered, she crossed
the city, she began her journey afresh : but faces, houses,
streets, landscapes, men, slipped by her like the unsubstantial
shapes of a dream. Night fell. But Marie travelled on
under a starry heaven, wrapped in soft light, along the

A ^NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. ' 149

Fougeres road, without even thinking that the face of the
sky had changed, without even knowing what Mayenne
meant, what Fougeres, or whither she was going. That she
might in a few hours be parted from the man she had
chosen, and who, as she thought, had chosen her, did not
enter her thoughts as possible. Love is the only passion
which knows nothing of past or future. If at times her
thoughts translated themselves into words, the words which
escaped her were almost destitute of meaning. Yet still
they echoed in her lover's heart like a promise of delight.
Both witnesses of this birth of passion saw that it grew
with terrible rapidity. Francine knew Marie as well as the
strange lady knew the young man : and their knowledge of
the past filled them with silent expectation of some alarming
catastrophe. Nor as a matter of fact were they long in
seeing the end of the drama to which Mile, de Verneuil had
given, perhaps unconsciously, the ominous name of tragedy.
The four travellers had journeyed about a league beyond
Mayenne, when they heard a horseman galloping at the top
of his speed towards them. He had no sooner caught up
the carriage than he stooped to gaze at Mile, de Verneuil,
who recognized Corentin. This sinister person permitted
himself a meaning gesture, the familiar nature of which was
a kind of insult, and disappeared after striking her blood
cold with this vulgar signal. The incident seemed to strike
the emigrant disagreeably, and certainly did not escape his
so-called mother ; but Marie touched him lightly and, by a
glance, seemed to implore a refuge in his heart as if it were
the only asylum open to her on earth. The young man's
brow cleared as he felt the pleasurable influence of the
gesture, in which his mistress had revealed, as though by
oversight, the extent of her attachment. A fear which she
did not understand had banished all her coquetry, and for
an instant love showed himself unveiled : they seemed not

ISO THE CHOUANS.

to dare to speak, as if for fear of breaking the sweet spell of
the moment. Unluckily, the watchful eye of Madame du
Gua was in their midst ; and she, like a miser presiding at a
feast, seemed to count their morsels and dole them out their
space of life. Given up to their happiness, the two lovers
arrived, without consciousness of the long journey they had
made, at that part of the road which is at the bottom of the
valley of Ernee, the first of the three hollows forming the
scene of the events which open our history. There
Francine perceived, and pointed out to her mistress, some
singular figures which seemed to flit like shadows across the
trees, and amidst the ajoncs which surrounded the fields.
But when the carriage came within range of these shadows,
a volley of musketry (the balls passing over their heads)
told the travellers that there was a solid reality in these
apparitions. The escort had fallen into an ambuscade.

At this lively fusillade Captain Merle felt a regret as
lively that he had shared the miscalculation of Mile, de
Verneuil, who, in her belief that a quick march by night
would be exposed to no danger, had only allowed him to
take some threescore men. Under Gerard's orders the
captain at once divided his little force into two columns, so
as to take the two sides of the road, and each officer set out
at a brisk run across the fields of broom and ajoncs, desirous
to engage the enemy without even waiting to discover their
numbers. The Blues began to beat these thick bushes to
left and to right with a valour by no means tempered with
discretion, and replied to the Chouans' attack by a well-sus-
tained fire into the broom-tufts whence the hostile shots
came. Mile, de Verneuil's first impulse had been to leap
from the coach and run back, so as to put as long a space
as possible between herself and the battle-field ; but then,
ashamed of her fear, and influenced by the natural desire
to show nobly in the eyes of a beloved object, she stood

A' NOTION OF POUCHES.

151

motionless, and tried to watch the combat calmly. The
emig:rant followed her movements, took her hand and
placed it on his heart.

" I was afraid," she said, smiling, " but now "

At that moment her maid exclaimed in a fright, " Marie !
take care !" But Francine, who had made as though to
spring from the
carriage, felt
herself stopped
by a strong
hand, the enor-
mous weight
of which drew
a sharp cry
from her. But
when she
turned her
head and re-
cognized the
face of Marche-a-Terre she became silent.

" To your mistake then," said the stranger to Mile, de
Verneuil, " I shall owe the discovery of secrets the sweetest
to the heart. Thanks to Francine, I learn that you bear the
lovely name of Marie — Marie, the name which I have
always invoked in my moments of sorrow ! Marie, the
name that I shall henceforth invoke in my joy, and which I
can never mention without sacrilegiously mingling religion
and love. Yet can it be a crime to love and pray at the
same time ? " As he spoke each clutched the other's hand
tight, and they gazed in silence at each other, the very
excess of their feeling depriving them of the ability to ex-
press it.

" There is no danger for you" said Marche-a-Terre
roughly to Francine, infusing into his voice, naturally harsh

152 THE CHOUANS.

and guttural, a sinister tone of reproach, and emphasizing
his words in a manner which struclv the innocent peasant
with terror. Never before had the poor girl seen ferocity
in the looks of Marche-a-Terre. Moonlight seemed the
only suitable illumination for his aspect ; and the fierce
Breton, his bonnet in one hand, his heavy rifle in the other,
his form huddled together like a gnome's, and wrapped in
those floods of pallid light which give such weird outlines to
all shapes, looked a creature of fairy-land rather than of the
actual world. The appearance, and the reproach it uttered,
had also a ghost-like rapidity. He turned abruptly to
Madame du Gua and exchanged some quick words with her,
of which Francine, who had almost forgotten her Low-Breton,
could catch nothing. The lady appeared to be giving re-
peated commands to Marche-a-Terre, and the brief colloquy
ended by an imperious gesture with which she pointed to
the two lovers. Before obeying, Marche-a-Terre cast a final
glance at Francine : he seemed to pity her, and to wish to
speak to her; but the Breton girl understood that her lover's
silence was due to orders. The man's tanned and rugged
skin seemed to wrinkle on his forehead, and his eyebrows
were strongly contracted. Was he resisting a fresh order
to kill Mile, de Verneuil .-* The grimace no doubt made
him look more hideous than ever to Madame du Gua ; but
the flash of his eye took a gentler meaning for Francine,
who, guessing from it that her woman's will could still
master the energy of this wild man, hoped still to reign,
under God, over his savage heart. The sweet converse in
which Marie was engaged was interrupted by Madame du
Gua, who came up and caught hold of her, uttering a cry
as if there were some sudden danger. But her real object
was merely to give one of the members of the Alengon
Royalist committee, whom she recognized, an opportunity
of speaking freely to the emigrant.

N

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 153

" Do not trust the girl you met at ' The Three Moors.' "

Having whispered these words in the young man's ear,
the Chevalier de Valois, mounted on a Breton pony, dis-
appeared in the broom from which he had just emerged. At
the same moment the musketry swelled into a rolling fire of
astonishing briskness, but no close fighting took place.

" Adjutant," said Clef-des-Coeurs, " may it not be a feigned
attack, in order to carry off our travellers, and put them to
ransom ? "

" The devil take me if you have not hit it ! " cried Gerard,
hastening back to the road.

But at the same time the Chouans' fire slackened, for the
real object of the skirmish had been to effect the communi-
cation which the chevalier had made to the young man.
Merle, who saw them making off in no great numbers
across the hedges, did not think it worth while to entangle
himself in a struggle, which could not be profitable, and
might be dangerous : while Gerard with an order or two
reformed the escort on the road, and began his march once
more, having suffered no losses. The captain had an op-
portunity of offering his hand to Mile, de Verneuil, that she
might take her seat, for the young noble remained standing
as if thunderstruck. Surprised at this, the Parisian girl got
in without accepting the Republican's courtesy. She turned
towards her lover, saw his motionless attitude, and was
stupefied at the change which the chevalier's mysterious
words had produced. The young emigrant came slowly
back, and his air showed a deep sense of disgust.

" Was I not right ? " whispered Madame du Gua, in his
ear, as she walked with him back to the carriage, " we are
certainly in the hands of a creature who has entered into a
bargain for your life. But since she is fool enough to fall in
love with you, instead of attending to her business, do not
yourself behave childishly, but feign love for her, till we

X

154 THE CHOUANS.

have reached the Vivetiere. When we are once there

But can he be actually in love with her already ? " said she
to herself, seeing the young man motionless in his place,
like one asleep.

The coach rolled almost noiselessly along the sandy road.
At the first glance that Mile, de Verneuil cast around her,
all seemed changed. Death was already creeping upon her
love. There was nothing, perhaps, but a mere shade of
difference, but such a shade, in the eyes of a loving woman,
affords as great a contrast as the liveliest colours. Francine
had understood by Marche-a-Terre's look, that the destiny
of Mile, de Verneuil, over which she had bidden him watch,
was in other hands than his : and she exhibited a pale
countenance, unable to refrain from tears, when her mistress
looked at her. The unknown lady hid but ill, under feigned
smiles, the spite of feminine revenge, and the sudden change
which her excessive attentions towards Mile, de Verneuil
infused into her attitude, her voice, and her features, was
of a nature to give alarm to a sharp-sighted person. So
Mile, de Verneuil instinctively shuddered, asking her-
self the while, " Why did I shudder ? she is his mother,"
and then she trembled all over as she suddenly said to
herself, " But is she really his mother ? " She saw before
her an abyss which was finally illuminated by a last glance
which she cast at the stranger. " The woman loves him ! "
she thought. " But why load me with attentions, after
showing me so much coolness .'' Am I lost .'' Or is she
afraid of me ? "

As for the emigrant, he grew red and pale by turns, and
preserved a calm appearance only by dropping his eyes so
as to hide the singular emotions which disturbed him. The
agreeable curve of his lips was spoilt by their being tightly
pinched, and his complexion yellowed with the violence of
his stormy thoughts. Mile, de Verneuil could not even

^ NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 155

discover whether there was any love left amid this rage.
But the road, which at this spot was lined with trees, became
dark, and prevented the silent actors in this drama from
questioning each other with their eyes. The sighing of the
wind, the rustle of the tufted trees, the measured pulse of
the escort's tramp, gave the scene that solemn character
which quickens the heart's beats. It was not possible for
Mile, de Verneuil to seek long in vain for the cause of the
change. The remembrance of Corentin passed like light-
ning across her mind, and brought with it the image, as it
were, of her true destiny, suddenly appearing before her.
For the first time since the morning she reflected seriously on
her position. Till that moment she had simply let herself
enjoy the happiness of loving without thinking either of her-
self or of the future. Unable any longer to endure her
anguish, she waited with the gentle patience of love for one
of the young man's glances, and returned it with one of such
lively supplication, with a pallor and a shudder possessing
so thrilling an eloquence, that he wavered. But the cata-
strophe was only the more thorough.

" Are you ill, mademoiselle ? " he asked.

The voice without a touch of kindness, the question
itself, the look, the gesture, all helped to convince the poor
girl that the incidents of the day had been part of a soul-
mirage, which was vanishing like the shapeless wreck which
the wind carries away.

" Am I ill ? " she replied, with a forced laugh. " I was
going to put the same question to you."

" I thought you understood each other," said Madame du
Gua, with assumed good-humour.

But neither the young nobleman nor Mile, de Verneuil
answered. She, doubly offended, was indignant at finding
her mighty beauty without might. She knew well enough
that at any moment she pleased she could learn the enigma

156 THE CHOUANS.

of the situation : but she felt little curiosity to penetrate it,
and, for the first time, perhaps, a woman recoiled before a
secret. Human life is sadly prolific of circumstances where,
in consequence it may be of too deep a study, it may be of
some sudden disaster, ouf ideas lose all coherence, have no
substance, no regular starting-point, where the present finds
all the bonds cut which unite it to the future and the past.
Such was Mile, de Verneuil's state. She reclined, her head
bent, in the back of the carriage, and lay like an uprooted
shrub, speechless and suffering. She looked at no one,
wrapped herself in grief, and abode with such persistence in
the strange world of grief where the unhappy take refuge,
that she lost sight of things around. Ravens passed croak-
ing over the heads of the party, but though, like all strong
minds, she kept a corner of her soul for superstitions, she
paid no attention to them. The travellers journeyed for
some time in total silence.

" Parted already ! " thought Mile, de Verneuil to herself.
"Yet nothing round me has told tales! Can it be Corentin?
He has no interest in doing so. Who has arisen as my
accuser .■* I had scarcely begun to be loved, and lo ! the
horror of desertion is already upon me. I sowed affection
and I reap contempt. Is it my fate then always to come in
sight of happiness and always to lose it ? "

She was feeling a trouble strange to her heart, for she
loved really and for the first time. Yet she was not so
much given up to her grief but that she could find resources
against it in the pride natural to a young and beautiful
woman. She had not published the secret of her love — a
secret which tortures will often fail to draw forth. She
rallied ; and, ashamed of giving the mea.sure of her passion by
her silent suffering, she shook her head gaily, showed a
smiling face, or rather a smiling mask, and put constraint on
her voice to disguise its altered tone.

A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S.

157

" Where are we ? " she asked of Captain Merle, who still
kept his place at a little distance from the coach.

" Three leagues and a half from fougeres, mademoiselle."

" Then we shall get there soon .-• " she said, to tempt him
to enter on a conversation in which she intended to show the
young captain some favour.

" These leagues," answered
Merle, overjoyed, " are not
very long in themselves ; but
in this country they take
the liberty of never coming
to an end. When you
reach the summit of the
ridge we are climbing you
will perceive a valley like
that which we shall soon
quit, and on the horizon
you will then see the sum-
mit of the Pilgrim. Pray
God, the Chouans may not

try to play a return match there ! Now you can understand
that in going up and down like this, one does not make
much progress. From the Pilgrim you will then see "

As he spoke the emigrant started a second time, but so
slightly that only Mile, de Verneuil noticed the start.

"What is the Pilgrim ?" asked the young lady briskly,
interrupting the captain's lecture on Breton topography.

" It is," answered Merle, "a hill-top which gives its name
to the valley of Maine, whereupon we are going to enter, and
which separates that province from the valley of the Coues-
non. At the other end of this valley is Fougeres, the first
town in Brittany. We had a fight there at the end of Ven-
d^miaire with the Gars and his brigands. We were escorting
some conscripts, who, to save themselves from leaving their

^■Zi^fdz.

158 THE CHOUANS.

country, wanted to kill us on the border line. But Hulot is
an ugly customer, and he gave them "

" Then you must have seen the Gars ? " asked she.
" What sort of a man is he ? "

And as she spoke she never took her piercing and sarcastic
glance off the pretended Vicomte de Bauvan.

" Well, really, mademoiselle," said Merle, who was doomed
to be interrupted, " he is so like the Citizen du Gua that if
he did not wear the uniform of the Ecole Polytechnique, I
would bet that it is he."

Mile, de Verneuil gazed at the young man, who, cool and
motionless, continued to regard her with contempt. She
saw nothing in him that could betray a feeling of fear : but
she let him know by a bitter smile that she was discovering
the secret he had so dishonourably kept. And then, in a
mocking voice, her nostrils quivering with joy, her head on
one side, so as to look at Merle and examine the young
noble at the same time, she said to the Republican, " The
First Consul, captain, is very much concerned about this
chief. He is a bold man, they say : only, he has a habit
of too giddily undertaking certain enterprises, especially
when women are concerned."

" That is just what we reckon upon," said the captain, " to
pay off our score with him. Let us get hold of him for only
a couple of hours, and we will put a little lead into his skull.
If he met us, the gentleman from Coblentz would do the
same by us, and send us to the dark place, and so one good
turn deserves another."

" Oh I " said the emigrant, " there is nothing to fear. Your
soldiers will never get as far as the Pilgrim, they are too
weary, and, if you please, they can rest but a step from here.
My mother alights at the Vivetiere, and there is the road to
it some gunshots off These two ladies will be glad to
rest : they must be tired after coming without a halt from

J NOTION OF FOUCHES. 159

Alenqon here. And since mademoiselle," said he, turning
with forced politeness towards his mistress, -" has been so
generous as to impart to our journey at once safety and
enjoyment, she will perhaps condescend to accept an in-
vitation to sup with my mother ? What is more, captain,"
he added, addressing Merle, " the times are not so bad but
that a hogshead of cider may turn up at the Vivetiere for
your men to tap. The Gars can hardly have made a clean
sweep : at least, my mother thinks so "

"Your mother ? " interrupted Mile, de Verneuil, ironically
catching him up, and making no reply to the unusual in-
vitation which was made to her.

" Has the evening made my age incredible to you,
mademoiselle ? " answered Madame du Gua. " I was un-
fortunate enough to be married very young ; my son was
born when I was fifteen "

" Surely you mistake, madanie. Do you not mean
thirty ? "

Madame du Gua grew pale, as she had to swallow this
insult; she would have given much for vengeance, but
found herself obliged to smile, for she was an.xious at any
price, even that of suffering the most biting epigrams, to
find out what the girl's real intentions were, and so she
pretended not to have understood.

" The Chouans have never had a more cruel leader than
the Gars, if we are to believe the reports about him," said
she, addressing Francine and her mistress at the same
time.

"Oh! I do not think him cruel," answered Mile, de
Verneuil, " but he knows how to tell falsehoods, and seems
to me very credulous. Now, a partisan chief should be no
one's dupe."

" You know him then ? " asked the young emigrant,
coldly.

i6o THE C HO VANS.

" No," she replied, with disdainful glance at him, " I
thought I knew him "

" Oh ! mademoiselle, he is certainly a keen hand," said
the captain, shaking his head, and giving to the word he
used {malin), by an expressive gesture, the special shade of
meaning which it then had and has now lost. " These old
stocks sometimes throw off vigorous suckers. He comes
from a country where the ci-devants are, they say, not
exactly in clover : and men, you see, are like medlars, they
ripen on the straw. If the fellow keeps his wits about him,
he may give us a long dance. He has found out the way
to meet our free companies with light companies, and to
neutralize all the Government's attempts. If we burn a
Royalist village he burns two belonging to Republicans.
He is carrying on operations over an immense area; and
thus obliges us to employ a great number of troops at a
moment when we have none to spare. Oh ! he knows his
business."

" He is the assassin of his country !" said Gerard, inter-
rupting the captain with a deep voice.

" But," said the young noble, " if his death will deliver
the country, shoot him as soon as you can."

Then he plunged his glance into Mile, de Verneuil's soul,
and there passed between them one of those scenes with-
out words whose dramatic vivacity and intangible finesse
speech can very imperfectly render. Danger makes men
interesting, and when it is a question of life and death, the
vilest criminal always excites a little pity. Therefore,
though Mile, de Verneuil was now confident that her
scornful lover was this redoubted chief, she would not
ascertain the fact at the moment by procuring his execu-
tion. She had another curiosity to satisfy, and preferring
to make her passion the standard of her faith or doubt,
began a game of hazard with danger. Her glance, steeped

k NOT/ON OF FOUCHE'S. i6i

in treacherous scorn, triumphantly pointed out the soldiers
to the young chief, and, while holding up the image of his
peril before him, she took pleasure in impressing on him
the painful thought that his life depended on a word, and
that her lips were on the point of opening to pronounce it.
Like an Indian savage, she seemed to put the very linea-
ments of her enemy to the question as he was bound to the
stake, and shook her tomahawk delicately, as though relish-
ing a vengeance innocent of effect, and punishing like a
mistress who still loves.

" Had I a son like yours," she said to the strange lady,
who was in evident alarm, " I should begin to wear mourn-
ing for him on the day when I exposed him to danger."

She received no answer, and though she turned her head
a score of times first towards the officers, and then sharply
back towards Madame du Gua, she could not catch between
her and the Gars any secret signal which assured her of a
correspondence which she at once suspected and wished
not to suspect. So pleasant is it to a woman to remain
undecided in a life and death struggle when the word of
decision is hers. The young general wore the calmest of
smiles, and endured without flinching the torture to which
Mile, de Verneuil put him. His attitude, and the expres-
sion of his features, spoke a man careless of the danger to
which he had knowingly exposed himself, and now and then
he seemed to say, " Here is an opportunity of avenging
your wounded vanity. Seize it ! I should be in despair
at having to relinquish my contempt for you." Mile, de
Verneuil on her side scrutinized the chief from the height
of her vantage with, in appearance, a mixture of insolence
and dignity. In appearance only, for at the bottom of
her heart she admired his cool intrepidity. Delighted at
discovering that her lover bore an ancient name (for privi-
lege of this kind pleases all women) she felt an added

Y

1 62 THE CHOUANS.

pleasure at meeting him in a situation where, defending a
cause ennobled by misfortune, he was wrestling with all the
might of a strong soul against the Republic which had so
often prevailed, and at seeing him grappling with danger
and showing the prowess which has such power over
women's hearts. So she tried him afresh a score of times,
following perhaps the instinct which leads a woman to play
with her victim as a cat plays with the captured mouse.

"On what legal authority do you doom the Chouans to
death .-* " asked she of Merle.

" Why, on that of the law of the 14th of last Fructidor,
which outlaws the revolted departments and establishes
courts-martial in them," replied the Republican.

" What is the immediate reason which gives me the
honour of your attention } " said she to the young chief, who
was examining her carefully.

" It is a feeling which a gentleman cannot express to
any woman, whosoever she be," answered the Marquis of
Montauran, in a low voice, stooping towards her. "It was
worth while," added he aloud, " to live at this time, in order
to see girls ' playing the executioner, and outvieing him in
their axe-play."

She gazed at Montauran ; then, delighted at receiving a
public insult from the man at the moment when his life was
in her hands, she said in his ear, with a laugh of gentle
mockery, " Your head is not good enough. No executioner
would care for it, and I will keep it for myself."

The astonished marquis stared for some time at this
strange girl, whose love was still the lord of all, even of the

' There is no word in which French has a more unfair advantage over
its translators than the double sense oifille, which can be used indifferently
in the same breath as simply "girl," and as conveying a gross insult. It
may not be an enviable privilege, but it exists. The somewhat similar play
on mauvaise tete below is less idiomatig. — 2'ranslator's Note.

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S.

163

most stinging insults, and who took her vengeance by
pardoning an offence which women never forgive. His
eyes lost something of their cold severity, and a touch of
melancholy suffused his features. His passion was already
stronger than he himself knew. Mile, de Verneuil, contented
with this pledge, slight as it was, of the reconciliation she
had soup-ht, sfave the chief a tender look, threw at him a
smile which was very like a kiss, and then lay back in the

^iw'^.-^

carriage, unwilling to play any more tricks with the future
of this comedy of happiness, and thinking that she had
knitted his bonds afresh by the smile. She was so beautiful !
She was so cunning in making the course of love run smooth !
She was so accustomed to take everything in sport, to walk
as chance chose ! She was so fond of the unforeseen and
the storms of life !

In accordance with the marquis's orders, the carriage
shortly after left the highway, and made for the Vivetiere
along a hollow lane shut in by high slopes, planted with apple
trees, which turned it into a ditch rather than a road. The
travellers left the Blues behind them to make their slow way
to the manor-house, whose grey roofs appeared and dis-
appeared by turns between the trees of the lane, where not

1 64 THE CHOUANS.

a few soldiers had to fall out to wrench their shoes from the
tenacious clay.

" This looks very much like the road to Paradise ! " cried
Beau-Pied.

Thanks to the postilion, who knew his way, no long
time passed before Mile, de Verneuil saw the Chateau de
la Vivetiere. The house, perched on a kind of promontory,
was defended and surrounded by two deep ponds, which
left no way of access but by following a narrow causeway.
The part of the peninsula on which the buildings and the
gardens lay was further protected for a certain distance
behind the chateau by a wide moat, receiving the overflow
of the ponds with which it communicated. It was thus in
fact an almost impregnable island, and an invaluable refuge
for any leader, since he could not be surprised except by
treachery. As she heard the rusty hinges of the gate creak,
and passed under the pointed arch of the gateway, which
had been in ruins since the late war. Mile, de Verneuil put
her head out, and the sinister colours of the picture which
met her eyes almost effaced the thoughts of love and of
coquetry with which she had been lulling herself. The
carriage entered a large courtyard, almost square in shape,
and enclosed by the steep banks of the ponds. These wild
embankments, bathed by waters covered with huge green
patches, were unadorned save by leafless trees of aquatic
species, whose stunted trunks and huge tufted heads rising
above rushes and brushwood, resembled grotesque statues.
These uncomely hedges seemed endowed with life and
speech as the frogs left them croaking, and the water-hens,
awaked by the noise of the coach, fluttered flapping over
the surface of the ponds. The courtyard, surrounded by
tall withered grass, by aj'oncs, by dwarf and climbing shrubs,
was destitute of all appearance of neatness or splendour.
The chateau itself appeared to have been long deserted ;

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 165

the roofs seemed crumbling under their weight of vegetation ;
the walls, though built of the solid schistous stone which the
soil supplies in abundance, were full of cracks to which the
ivy clung. Two wings, connected at right angles by a lofty
tower, and facing the pond, made up the whole chateau, whose
doors and blinds hanging rotten, whose rusty balustrades and
shattered windows seemed likely to fall at the first breath of
tempest. The night breeze whistled through the ruins, to
which the moon with its uncertain light lent the character and
semblance of a huge spectre. The colours of this blue and
grey granite contrasted with the black and yellow schist must
have been seen in order to recognize the truth of the image
which this dark and empty carcass suggested. Its stones
wrenched asunder, its unglazed casements, its crenellated
tower, its roofs open to the sky, gave it exactly the air of a
skeleton ; and the very birds who took to flight hooting
gave an additional stroke to this vague resemblance. Some
lofty fir-trees, planted behind the house, waved their dark
foliage above the roof, and some yews, originally trained to
give ornament to the corners, now framed it with melancholy
drapery like funeral palls. Lastly, the shape of the doors, the
rude style of the ornamentation, the lack of uniformity in the
buildings, were all characteristic of one of those feudal manor-
houses whereon Brittany prides herself. And not without
reason, perhaps, inasmuch as they enrich this Gaelic country
with a sort of history in monuments of the .shadowy times
preceding the general establishment of the monarchy. Mile,
de Verneuil, in whose fancy the word "chateau " always took
the shape of a conventional type, was struck by the funereal
aspect of the picture, jumped lightly from the coach, and
stood alone, gazing full of alarm, and wondering what she
had better do. Francine heard Madame du Guagive a sigh of
joy at finding herself out of reach of the Blues, and an in-
voluntary cry escaped her when the gate was shut and she

i66

THE CHOUANS.

found herself caged in this kind of natural fortress.
Montauran had darted quickly to Mile, de Verneuil, guessing
the thoughts that occupied her.

"Im^r^s't, '' '

^lhL^:_ -^^^^^

" This chateau," said he, with a touch of sadness, " has
been shattered by war, as the projects I built for our happi-
ness have been shattered by you."

" How so ? " she asked, in deep surprise.

" Are you 'a woman, young, beautiful, nod/e and witty,' " he
said, with a tone of irony, repeating to her the words which
she had said to him so coquettishly in their conversation on
the road.

" Who has told you the contrary ? "

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 167

" Some trustworthy friends, who take an interest in my
safety and are watching to counterplot treachery. "

" Treachery !" she said, in a sarcastic tone. "Are Alen^on
and Hulot so far off ? You seem to lack memory, an
awkward defect for a partisan chief. But from the moment
vf\i&\\ friends," she added, with studied insolence, " reign in
your heart with such omnipotence — be content with your
friends. There is nothing comparable to the pleasures of
friendship. Farewell ! I will not set foot within these walls,
nor shall the soldiers of the Republic."

She darted towards the gate with an impulse of scorn and
wounded pride, but her action disclosed a nobility of feel-
ing and a despair which entirely changed the ideas of the
marquis, who felt the pain of renouncing his desires too
much not to be imprudent and credulous. He too was
already in love ; and neither of the lovers had any desire to
prolong their quarrel.

" Add one word and I will believe you," he said in a
beseeching tone.

" One word ? " she said ironically, and with clenched lips.
" One word .•* Will not even one gesture do ? "

" Scold me at least," said he, trying to seize a hand which
she drew away, " if indeed you dare to sulk with a rebel
chief who is now as mistrustful and sombre as just now he
was confiding and gay."

Marie looked at the marquis without anger, and he
added :

" You have my secret, and I have not yours."

But at these words her brow of alabaster seemed to
darken. Marie cast an angry look at the chief, and
answered, " My secret ? Never ! "

In love, every word and every look has its momentary
eloquence, but on this occasion Mile, de Verneuil gave no
precise indication of her meaning, and clever as Montauran

1 68 THE CHOUANS.

was, the riddle of the exclamation remained unsolved for
him, though her voice had betrayed some extraordinary
emotion which must have strongly tempted his curiosity.

" You have," he said, " an agreeable manner of dispelling
suspicion."

" Do you still entertain any ? " she said, looking him up
and down as much as to say, " Have you any rights over
me i

" Mademoiselle," answered the young man, with an air at
once humble and firm, " the power which you exercise over
the Republican troops, this escort "

"Ah! you remind me. Shall I and my escort," asked she,
with a touch of irony, " will your protectors, I should say,
be in safety here ? "

" Yes, on the faith of a gentleman. Whoever you are,
you and yours have nothing to fear from me."

This pledge was given with an air of suchsincerityand gene-
rosity that Mile, de Verneuil could not but feel fully reassured
as to the fate of the Republicans. She was about to speak,
when the arrival of Madame du Gua silenced her. This
lady had been able either to hear, or to guess part of the
conversation between the lovers, and was not a little anxious
at finding them in a posture which did not display the least
unkindly feeling. When he saw her, the marquis offered
his hand to Mile, de Verneuil, and started briskly towards
the house as if to rid himself of an unwelcome companion.

" I am in their way," said the strange lady, remaining
motionless where she stood, and gazing at the two reconciled
lovers as they made their way slowly towards the entrance-
stairs, where they halted to talk as soon as they had put a
certain distance between her and themselves. " Yes ! yes !
I am in their way," she went on, speaking to herself, " but
in a little time the creature shall be no more in mine ! By
heaven ! the pond shall be hef grave. Shall I not keep your

A NOT/ ON OF FOUCHE'S.

169

\

' faith of a gentleman ' for you ? Once under water, what has
anyone to fear ? Will she not be safe there ? "

She was gazing steadily at the clear mirror of the little
lake on the right when suddenly she heard the brambles on
the bank rustle, and saw by moonlight the face of Marche-
a-Terre rising behind the
knotty trunk of an old
willow. Only those who
knew the Chouan could
have made him out in the
midst of this crowd of pol-
larded stumps among which
his own form easily con-
founded itself. Madame
du Gua first threw a watch-
ful look around her. She
saw the postilion leading
his horses off to a stable
in the wing of the chateau
which faced the bank where
Marche-a-Terre was hid-
den ; while Francine was
making her way towards the

two lovers, who at the moment had forgotten everything on
earth. Then the strange lady stepped forward with her
finger on her lips to insist on complete silence : after which
the Chouan understood rather than heard the following
words :

" How many of you are here ? "

" Eighty-seven."

" They are only sixty-five : I counted them."

" Good ! " said the savage with ferocious satisfaction.

Then the Chouan, who kept an eye on Francine's least
movement, dived behind the willow bark as he saw her turn

z

^Unt-c^—

I70 IHE C HO VANS.

back to look for the female foe of whom she was instinctively
watchful.

Seven or eight persons, attracted by the noise of the
carnage wheels, showed themselves on the top of the front
stairway, and cried, " 'Tis the Gars ! 'Tis he ! Here he is! "
At this cry others ran up, and their presence disturbed the
lovers' talk. The Marquis of Montauran advanced hastily
towards these gentlemen, and bade them be silent with a
commanding gesture, pointing out to them the head of the
avenue where the Republican troops were debouching. At
sight of the well-known blue uniforms faced with red and
the flashing bayonets, the astounded conspirators cried :

" Have you come to betray us .'* "

" If I had I should hardly warn you of the danger,"
answered the marquis, smiling bitterly. " These Blues," he
continued, after a pause, " are the escort of this young lady,
whose generosity has miraculously delivered us from the
danger to which we had nearly fallen victim.s in an inn at
Alen9on. We will tell you the story. Mademoiselle and
her escort are here on my parole, and must be received as
friends."

Madame du Gua and Francine having arrived at the steps,
the marquis gallantly presented his hand to Mile, de Ver-
neuil. The group of gentlemen fell back into two rows, in
order to give them passage, and all strove to distinguish
the stranger's features : for Madame du Gua had already
heightened their curiosity by making some private signals.
Mile, de Verneuil beheld in the first apartment a large table
handsomely laid for some score of guests. This dining-room
communicated with a large saloon in which the company
was shortly collected. Both chambers were in harmony
with the spectacle of ruin which the exterior of the chateau
presented. The wainscot, wrought in polished walnut, but
of rough, coarse, ill-finished workmanship in very high relief,

A NOT/0 lY OF POUCHES. 171

was wrenched asunder and seemed ready to fall, Its dark hue
added yet more to the melancholy aspect of rooms without cur-
tains or mirrors, where a few pieces of ancient and ramshackle
furniture matched with the general effect of dilapidation.
Marie saw maps and plans lying unrolled on a large table,
and in the corners of the room piles of swords and rifles.
The whole bore witness to an important conference between
the Chouan and Vendean chiefs. The marquis led Mile, de
Verneuil to a vast worm-eaten armchair which stood by the
fireplace, and Francine placed herself behind her mistress,
leaning on the back of the venerable piece of furniture.

" You will excuse me for a moment, that I may do my
duty as host ? " said the marquis, as he left the couple, and
mixed in the groups which his guests formed.

Francine saw all the chiefs, in consequence of a word from
Montauran, hastily hiding their maps, their arms, and every-
thing that could excite the suspicions of the Republican
officers: while some laid aside broad belts which contained
pistols and hangers. The marquis recommended the greatest
possible discretion, and went out with apologies for the ne-
cessity of looking after the reception of the troublesome
guests that chance was giving him. Mile, de Verneuil, who
had put her feet to the fire, endeavouring to warm them,
allowed Montauran to leave without turning her head : and
thus disappointed the expectation of the company, who were
all anxious to see her. The gentlemen gathered round the
unknown lady, and while she carried on with them a con-
versation sotto voce, there was not one who did not turn
round more than once to examine the two strangers.

" You know Montauran," she said, " he fell in love with
the girl at first sight : and you can quite understand that
the best advice sounded suspicious to him when it came
from my mouth. Our friends at Paris, and Messieurs de
Valois and d'Esgrignon of Alengon as well, have all warned

172 THE CHOUANS.

him of the snare that is being laid for him by throwing some
baggage at his head : and yet he takes up with the first he
meets, a girl who, according to my information, has stolen
a great name in order to disgrace it," and so forth.

This lady, in whom the reader must have already recog-
nized the woman who decided the Chouans on attacking the
turgothie, shall keep henceforward in our history the appella-
tion which helped her to escape the dangers of her journey by
Alen9on. The publication of her real name could only offend a
distinguished family, already deeply grieved at themisconduct
of a daughter, whose fate has moreover been the subject of
another drama than this. But the attitude of inquisitiveness
which the company took soon became impertinent and
almost hostile. Some harsh exclamations reached Francine's
ear, and she, after whispering to her mistress, took refuge in
the embrasure of a window. Marie herself rose, turned to-
wards the insulting group, and cast on them dignified and even
scornful glances. Her beauty, her elegant manners, and her
haughtiness, suddenly changed the disposition of her enemies,
and gained her a flattering murmur of admiration, which
seemed to escape them against their will. Two or three
men, whose exterior showed those habits of politeness and
gallantry which are learnt in the exalted sphere of a court,
drew near Marie with a good grace. But the modesty of her
demeanour inspired them with respect, no one dared to
address her, and she was so far from occupying the position
of accused, that she seemed to be their judge. Nor had these
chiefsofa war, undertaken for Godand the King, much resem-
blance to the fancy portraits of them which she had amused
herself with drawing. The struggle, great as it really was,
shrunk and assumed mean proportions in her eyes when she
saw before her, with the exception of two or three vigorous
faces, mere country squires destitute of character and
vivacity. Marie dropped suddenly from poetry to plain

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S.

173

prose. The countenances about her gave a first impression
rather of a desire to intrigue than of the love of glory. It was
self-interest that had really called these gentlemen to arms ;
and if they became heroic on actual service, here
they showed themselves in their natural colours.
The loss of her illusions made
Verneuil unjust, and pre-
vented her from recognizing
the sincere devotion which
made some of these men
so remarkable. Yet

most of them cer-

1
tainly showed a want

of distinction in man-
ner, and the few
characteristic heads
which were notable
among them, were
robbed of grandeur by
the formal etiquette
of aristocracy. Even
though Marie was libe-
ral enough to grant
shrewdness and acute-
ness of mind to these ti....ii.
persons, she found in

them a complete lack of the magnificent simplicity to which
she was accustomed in the successful men of the Republic.
This nocturnal assembly, held in the ruined fortalice, under
grotesque architectural devices which suited the faces well
enough, made her smile as she chose to see in it a picture
symbolizing the monarchy. Soon there came to her the de-
lightful thought that at any rate the marquis played the most
important part among these folk, whose only merit in her eyes

174 THE CHOUANS.

was their devotion to a lost cause. She sketched in fancy
the form of her lover among the crowd, pleased herself with
setting him off against them, and saw in their thin and
meagre personalities nothing but tools of his great designs.
At this moment the marquis's steps rang in the neighbouring
room : the conspirators suddenly melted into separate groups,
and the whispering ceased. Like schoolboys who had been
planningsometrick during their master's absence, they eagerly
feigned good behaviour and silence. Montauran entered, and
Marie had the happiness of admiring him among these men
of whom he was the youngest, the handsomest, the first. As
a king does amidst his courtiers, he went from group to
group, distributing slight nods, hand-.shakes, glances, words
of intelligence or reproach, playing his part of party chief
with a grace and coolness difficult to anticipate in a young
man whom she had at first taken for a mere giddypate.
The marquis's presence put an end to the inquisitiveness
which had been busy with Mile, de Verneuil, but Madame
du Gua's ill-nature soon produced its effect. The Baron
du Guenic (surnamed L' Intiind), who, among all these men
assembled by matters of such grave interest, seemed alone
entitled by his name and rank to use familiarity with
Montauran, took his arm, and led him aside.

" Listen, my dear marquis," said he, " we are all in pain
at seeing you about to commit an egregious piece of
folly."

" What do you mean by that ? "

" Do you know where this girl comes from, who she
really is, and what her designs on you are .'' "

"My dear L'Intime, be it said between ourselves, my
fancy will have passed by to-morrow morning."

" Granted, but how if the baggage gives you up before
daybreak ? "

" I will answer you when you tell me why she has not

A NOTION OF POUCHES, 175

done so already," replied Montauran, assuming in jest an
air of coxcombry.

" Why, if she likes you, she probably would not care to
betray you till her fancy, too, has ' passed.' "

" My dear fellow, do look at that charming girl. Observe
her ways, and then say, if you dare, that she is not a lady.
If she cast favouring eyes on^ you, would you not in your
inmost soul feel some respect for her ? A dame whom we
know has prejudiced you against her. But after the con-
versation we have had, if I found her to be one of the
wantons our friends speak of, I would kill her."

" Do you think," said Madame du Gua, breaking into the
talk, " that Fouche is fool enough to pick up the girl he sends
against you at a street corner ? He has proportioned her
charms to your ability. But if you are blind, your friends
must keep their eyes open to watch over you."

" Madame," answered the Gars, darting an angry glance
at her, " take care not to attempt anything against this
young person, or against her escort, otherwise nothing shall
save you from my vengeance. I will have the young lady
treated with the greatest respect, and as one who belongs
to me. We have, I believe, some connection with the
Verneuils."

The opposition with which the marquis met had the usual
effect of similar obstacles on young people. Although he
had in appearance treated Mile, de Verneuil very cavalierly,
and had made believe that his passion for her was a mere
caprice, he had just, in an impulse of pride, taken a long step
forward. After making the lady's cause his, he found his
honour concerned in her being respectfully treated, so he
went from group to group giving assurances, after the
fashion of a man dangerous to cross, that the stranger was
really Mile, de Verneuil : and forthwith all murmurs were
silenced. When Montauran had re-established a kind of

176 TIfE C HO VANS.

peace in the saloon and had satisfied all exigencies, he drew
near his mistress with an eager air, and whispered to her :

" These people have deprived me of some minutes of
happiness."

" I am glad to have you near me," answered she, laughing.
" I warn you that I am curious : so do not be too tired of
my questions. Tell me first who is that good man who
wears a green cloth waistcoat ? "

" 'Tis the well-known Major Brigaut, a man of the Marais,
comrade of the late Mercier, called La Vendee."

" And who is the fat red-faced priest with whom he is just
now talking about me ? " went on Mile de Verneuil.

" You want to know what they are saying ? "

" Do I want to know ? Do you call that a question ? "

" But I cannot tell you without insulting you."

"As soon as you allow me to be insulted without e.xacting
vengeance for the insults proffered me in your house, fare-
well, marquis ! I will not stay a moment longer here : as it
is, I am ashamed of deceiving these poor Republicans who
are so loyal and confiding," and she made some steps, but
the marquis followed her.

" My dear Marie, listen to me. On my honour I silenced
their unkind words before knowing whether they are true
words or false. Nevertheless, in my situation, when our
allies in the Government offices at Paris have warned me to
mistrust every kind of woman I meet on my path, telling me
at the same time that Fouche has made up his mind to
employ some street- walking Judith against me, my best
friends may surely be pardoned for thinking that you are
too beautiful to be an honest woman "

And as he spoke the marquis plunged his eyes into those
of Mile, de Verneuil, who blushed, and could not keep back
her tears.

" I deserved this insult," she said. " I would fain see you

A* NOTION OF POUCHES 177

sure that I am a worthless creature, and yet know myself
loved : then I should doubt you no more. For my part I
believed you when you deceived me, and you disbelieve me
when I speak truth. Enough of this, sir," she said, frowning,
and with the paleness of approaching death on her face,
" adieu ! "

She dashed from the room with a despairing movement,
but the young marquis said in her ear, " Marie ! my life is
yours !

She stopped and looked at him. " No ! no ! " she said, " I
am generous. Farewell ! I thought not as I came with you
of my past or of your future. I was mad ! "

" What ! you leave me at the moment when I offer you
my life ? "

" You are offering it in a moment of passion, of desire "

" But without regret, and for ever ! " said he.

She re-entered the room, and to hide his emotion the
marquis continued their Conversation : " The fat man whose
name you asked me is a redoubtable person. He is the Abbe
Gudin, one of those Jesuits who are certainly headstrong
enough, and perhaps devoted enough, to remain in France
notwithstanding the edict of 1 763 which banished them.
He is a firebrand of war in these districts, and the organizer
of the association called of the Sacred Heart. Accustomed
to make religion his tool, he persuades the affiliated members
that they will come to life again : and knows how to keep
up their fanaticism by clever prophecies. You see, one has
to make use of each man's private interest to gain a great
end. In that lies the whole secret of politics."

" And the other, in a green old age, the muscular man
whose face is so repulsive ? There ! the man dressed in a
tattered lawyer's gown."

" Lawyer ! he aspires to the rank of marechal de camp.
Have you never heard speak of Longuy .'' "

A A

178 THE CHOUANS.

"What! 'tis he?" said Mile, de Verneuil, affrighted.
" You employ such men as that ? "

" Hush ! he might hear you. Do you see the other,
enofaired in criminal conversation with Madame du Gua?"

" The man in black, who looks like a judge ?"

" He is one of our diplomatists, La Billardiere, son of a
counsellor in the Breton Parliament, whose real name is
something like Flamet, but he is in the Princes' confidence."

" And his neighbour, who is just now clutching his clay
pipe, and who rests all the fingers of his right hand on the
wainscot like a clown?" said Mile, de Verneuil, with a
laugh.

"You have guessed him, by heavens! 'Tis a former
gamekeeper of the lady's defunct husband. He commands
one of the companies with which I meet the mobile battalions.
He and Marche-a-Terre are perhaps the most conscientious
servants that the king has hereabouts."

" But she — who is she ? "

" She," continued the marquis, " she is the last mistress
that Charette had. She has great influence on all these
people."

" Has she remained faithful to him ?"

But the marquis made no other answer than a slight
grimace, expressing doubt.

" Do you think well of her ? "

" Really, you are very inquisitive."

" She is my enemy : because she no longer can be my
rival," said Mile, de Verneuil, laughing. " I forgive her
her past slips, let her forgive me mine. And the officer
with the moustaches ? "

" Pardon me if I do not name him. He wants to get rid
of the First Consul by attacking him arms in hand. Whether
he succeeds or not, you will hear of him some day. He
will be famous."

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S.

179

"And you have come to take command of people like
that ? " she said, with horror. " These are the King's de-
fenders ! Where then are the gentlemen, the great lords ? "

" Well," said the mar-
quis somewhat tauntingly,
"they are scattered about
all the courts of Europe.
Who "else is enlisting
kings, cabinets, armies in
the service of the House
of Bourbon, and
urging them against
this Republic, which
threatens all monar-
chies with death
and social order
with complete
destruction .'* "

"Ah!" she
said, with gene-
rous emotion,
"be to me hence-
forth the pure
source whence I
may draw such
further ideas as
I must learn.

I have no objection to that. But allow me to think that
you are the only noble who does his duty by attacking
France with Frenchmen, and not with foreign aid. I
am a woman, and 1 feel that if a child of mine struck me
in anger I could pardon him : but if he looked on while
a stranger tore me to pieces, I should regard him as a
monster."

+L....I1.

i8o THE CHOUANS.

" You will always be a Republican," said the marquis,
delightfully intoxicated by the glowing tones which con-
firmed his hopes.

" A Republican ? I am not that any more. I could not
esteem you if you were to submit to the First Consul," she
went on, " but neither would I see you at the head of men
who put a corner of France to pillage, instead of attacking
the Republic in front. For whom are you fighting ? What
do you expect from a king restored to the throne by your
hands ? Once upon a time a woman undertook this same
glorious task : and the king, after his deliverance, let her be
burnt alive ! These royal folk are the anointed of the Lord,
and there is danger in touching consecrated things. Leave
God alone to place, displace, or replace them on their purple
seats. If you have weighed the reward which will come to
you, you are ten times greater in my eyes than 1 thought
you ; and if so, you may trample me under your feet if you
like ; I will gladly permit you to do so."

" You are charming ! Do not teach your lessons to these
gentlemen, or I shall be left without soldiers."

" Ah ! if you would let me convert you we would go a
thousand miles hence."

" These men whom you seem to despise," replied the
marquis in a graver tone, "will know how to die in the
struggle, and their faults will be forgotten ; besides, if my
attempts meet with some success, will not the laurels of
triumph hide all else ? "

" You are the only man here who seems to me to have
anything to lose."

" I am not the only one," said he, with real modesty ;
" there are two new Vend^an chiefs. The first, whom you
heard them call Grand-Jacques, is the Comte de Fontaine ;
the other is La Billardiere, whom I have pointed out to you
already."

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. i8i

" And do you forget Quiberon, where La Billardiere
played a very singular part ? " said she, struck by a sudden
memory.

" La Billardiere took on himself a great deal of responsi-
bility ; believe me, the service of princes is not a bed
of roses."

" Ah ! you make me shudder," cried Marie. " Marquis ! "
she went on, in a tone seemingly indicating a reticence, the
mystery of which concerned him personally, " a single
instant is enough to destroy an illusion, and to unveil
secrets on which the life and happiness of many men

depend " She stopped herself, as if she feared to say

too much, and added, " I would fain know that the
Republican soldiers are safe."

" I will be prudent," said he, smiling, to disguise his
emotion ; " but speak to me no more of your soldiers. I
have answered for them already, on my honour as a
gentleman."

" And after all what right have I to lead you ? " said she,
" be you always the master of us two. Did I not tell you
that it would put me to despair to be mistress of a slave ? "

"My lord marquis," said Major Brigaut, respectfully
interrupting this conversation, " will the Blues stay long
here .? "

" They will go as soon as they have rested," cried Marie.

The marquis directing inquiring looks towards the com-
pany, saw that there was a flutter among them, left
Mile, de Verneuil and allowed Madame du Gua to come
and take his place by her side. This lady wore a mask of
laughing perfidy, which even the young chief's bitter smile
did not disturb. But at the same moment Francine uttered a
cry which she herself promptly checked. Mile, de Verneuil,
astonished at seeing her faithful country-maid flying towards
the dining-room, turned her gaze on Madame du Gua, and

I

i82 THE C HO VANS.

her surprise increased as she noted the pallor which had
spread over the face of her enemy. Full of curiosity to
know the secret of this abrupt departure, she advanced to-
wards the recess of the window, whither her rival followed
her, with the object of removing the suspicions which her
indiscretion might have excited, and smiled at her with an
indefinable air of malice, as, after both had cast a glance on
the lake and its landscape, they returned together to the
fireplace ; Marie without having seen anything to justify
Francine's flight, Madame du Gua satisfied that her orders
were obeyed.

The lake, at the edge of which Marche-a-Terre, like a
spirit conjured up by the lady, had appeared in the court,
ran to join the moat surrounding the gardens in a series of
misty reaches, sometimes broadening into ponds, sometimes
contracted like canals in a park. The steeply shelving
bank which these clear waters washed was but some
fathoms distant from the window. Now Francine, who
had been absorbed in watching the black lines sketched
by the heads of some old willows on the face of the
waters, was gazing half absently at the regular curves
which the light breeze gave to their branches. Suddenly it
seemed to her that she saw one of these shapes moving on
the watery mirror, with the irregular and wilful motion
which shows animal life ; the form was vague enough, but
seemed to be human. Francine at first set her vision down
to the shadowy outlines which the moonlight produced
through the branches ; but soon a second head showed
itself, and then others appeared in the distance, the small
shrubs on the bank bent and rose again sharply, and
Francine perceived in the long line of the hedge a gradual
motion like that of a mighty Indian serpent of fabulous
contour. Next, divers points of light flashed and shifted
their position here and there among the brooms and the

A^ NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 183

tall brambles. Marche-a-Terre's beloved redoubled her
attention, and in doing so she seemed to recognize the
foremost of the black figures which were passing along this
animated shore. The man's shape was very indistinct, but
the beating of her heart assured her that it was really
Marche-a-Terre whom she saw. Convinced by a gesture,
and eager to know whether this mysterious movement hid
some treachery or not, she darted towards the courtyard,
and, when she had reached the middle of this green ex-
panse, she scanned by turns the two wings and the two
banks without observing any trace of this secret movement
in the bank which faced the uninhabited part of the build-
ing. She strained her ear and heard a slight rustle like
that which the steps of a wild beast might produce in the
silent woods ; she shuddered, but she did not tremble.
Young and innocent as she still was, curiosity quickly
suggested a trick to her. She saw the carriage, ran to it,
hid herself in it, and only raised her head with the caution
of the hare in whose ears the echo of the far-off hunt re-
sounds. Then she saw Pille-Miche coming out of the
stable. The Chouan was accompanied by two peasants,
all three carrying trusses of straw ; these they spread out
in such a manner as to make a long bed of litter before
the deserted wing and parallel to the bank with the dwarf
trees, where the Chouans were moving with a silence
which gave evidence of the preparation of some hideous
stratagem.

" You are giving them as much straw as if they were
really going to sleep here. Enough, Pille-Miche, enough!"
said a low, harsh voice, which Francine knew.

" Will they not sleep there ? " answered Pille-Miche,
emitting a foolish guffaw. " But are you not afraid that
the Gars will be angry ? " he added, so low that Francine
could not hear him.

1 84 THE CHOUANS.

" Well, suppose he is angry," replied Marche-a-Terre
under his breath, " we shall have killed the Blues all the
same. But," he went on, " there is a carriage which we
two must run in."

Pille-Miche drew the coach by the pole and Marche-a-
Terre pushed one of the wheels so smartly that Francine
found herself in the barn and on the point of being shut up
there before she had had time to reflect on her position.
Pille-Miche went forth to help in bringing in the cask of
cider which the marquis had ordered to be served out to
the soldiers of the escort, and Marche-a-Terre was passing
by the coach in order to go out and shut the door, when he
felt himself stopped by a hand which caught the long hair
of his goatskin. He met certain eyes whose sweetness
exercised magnetic power over him, and he stood for a
moment as if bewitched. Francine jumped briskly out of
the carriage, and said to him in the aggressive tone which
suits a vexed woman so admirably :

" Pierre, what were the news you brought to that lady
and her son on the highway ? What are they doing here .-*
Why are you hiding ? I will know all ! "

At these words the Chouan's face took an expression
which Francine had never known him to wear. The
Breton led his innocent mistress to the doorstep, and there
turning her face towards the white blaze of the moon, he
answered, staring at her with a terrible look :

" Yes, Francine, I will tell you, by my damnation ! but
only when you have sworn on these beads," and he drew
an old rosary from underneath the goatskin, " on this relic
which you know," he went on, " to answer me truly one
single question."

Francine blushed as she looked at the beads, which had
doubtless been a love-token between them.

" On this it was," said the Chouan, with a voice full of

A NO HON OB }' OUCHES.

185

feeling, " that you swore " but he did not finish. The

peasant girl laid her hand on the lips of her wild lover to
silence him.

" Need I swear ? " said she.

He took his mistress gently by the hand, gazed at her
for a minute and
went on : " Is the
young lady whom
you serve really
named Mile, de
Verneuil ? "

Francine stood
with her arms
hanging by her
sides, her eyelids
drooping, her head
bent. She was pale
and speechless.

" She is a wan-
ton ! " continued
Marche-a-Terre in
a terrible voice.
As he spoke the
pretty hand tried
to cover his lips

once more : but this time he started violently back, and
the Breton girl saw before her no longer a lover but a
wild beast in all the savagery of its nature. The Chouan's
eyebrows were fiercely contracted, his lips were drawn back,
and he showed his teeth like a dog at bay in his master's
defence. " I left you a flower, and I find you carrion ! Ah !
why did we ever part ? You have come to betray us, to
deliver up the Gars ! "

His words were rather bellowings than articulate speech.

B B

+1 1:

1 86 THE CHOUANS.

But though Francine was in terror, at this last reproach she
summoned courage to look at his fierce face, raised eyes as
of an angel to his, and answered calmly, " I will stake my
salvation that that is false. These are the notions of your
lady there ! "

He lowered his eyes in turn. Then she took his hand,
turned towards him with a caressing movement, and said :
" Pierre, what have we to do with all this ? Listen to me.
I cannot tell how you can understand anything of it : for I
understand nothing! But remember that this fair and noble
young lady is my benefactress, that she is yours, too, and that
we live like two sisters. No harm must ever happen to her
when we are by, at least in our lifetime. Swear to me that
it shall be so. I have no one here to trust to but you ! "

" I am not master here !" replied the Chouan, sulkily, and
his face darkened. She took hold of his great flapping ears
and twisted them gently, as if she was playing with a cat.

" Well," said she, seeing him look less stern, " promise me
that you will use all the power you have in the service of
our benefactress."

He shook his head, as if doubtful of success, and the ges-
ture made the Breton girl shudder. At this critical moment
the escort reached the causeway. The tramp of the soldiers
and the rattle of their arms woke the echoes of the courtyard,
and seemed to decide Marche-a-Terre.

" I will save her — perhaps," he said to his mistress, " if
you can manage to make her stay in the house," and he
added, " Stay you by her there, and observe the deepest
silence : if not, I answer for nothing !"

" I promise," she answered, in her affright.
" Well, then, go in. Go in at once, and hide your fear
from everybody, even your mistress."
" Yes."
She pressed the hand of the Chouan, who looked at her

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 187

with a fatherly air while she flitted lightly as a bird to the
entrance steps. Then he plunged into the hedge like an
actor who runs into the wings when the curtain rises on a
tragedy.

" Do you know, Merle, that this place looks to me just
like a mouse-trap !" said Gerard, as he reached the chateau.

" I see it myself," said the captain, thoughtfully.

The two officers made haste to post sentries so as to
make sure of the gate and the causeway : then they cast
mistrustful looks at the banks and the surrounding landscape.

" Bah ! " said Merle, " we must either enter this old barrack
with confidence or not go in at all."

" Let us go in," said Gerard.

The soldiers, dismissed from the ranks by a word of their
leaders, quickly stacked their muskets and pitched the
colours in front of the bed of straw in the midst whereof
appeared the cask of cider. Then they broke into groups,
and two peasants began to serve out butter and rye-bread
to them. The marquis came to receive the two officers and
conducted them to the saloon, but when Gerard had mounted
the steps and had gazed at the two wings of the building
where the old larches spread their black boughs, he called
Beau- Pied and Clef-des-Cceurs to him.

" You two are to explore the gardens between you and to
beat the hedges. Do you understand ? Then you will post
a sentry by the stand of colours."

" May we light our fire before beginning the hunt, ad-
jutant ? " said Clef-des-Cceurs : and Gerard nodded.

"Look you, Clef-des-Coeurs," said Beau- Pied, "the ad-
jutant is wrong to run his head into this wasp's-nest. If
Hulot was in command he would never have jammed him-
self up. We are in a kind of stew-pan ! "

" You are a donkey," replied Clef-des-Coeurs. " Why,
can't you, the king of all sly fellows, guess that this watchbox

i«8 TJIE CHOUANS.

is the chateau of that amiable young lady after whom our
merry Merle, the most accomplished of captains, is whisding ?
He will marry her : that is as clear as a well-polished
bayonet. She will do the demi-brigade credit, a woman
like that ! "

"True," said Beau-Pied, "and you might add that this
cider is good. But I can't drink in comfort in front of these
beastly hedges. I seem to be always seeing before me
Larose and Vieux-Chapeau as they tumbled into the ditch
on the Pilgrim. I shall remember poor Larose's pigtail all
my life. It wagged like a knocker on a street door."

" Beau- Pied, my friend, you have too much imagination
for a soldier. You ought to make songs at the National
Institute."

" If I have too much imagination," replied Beau- Pied,
"you have got none. It will be some time before they
make you consul ! "

A laugh from the soldiers put an end to the conversation,
for Clef-des-CcEurs found he had no cartridge in his box as
an answer to his adversary.

" Are you going to make your rounds ? I will take the
right hand," said Beau- Pied.

" All right, I will take the left," answered his comrade,
" but wait a minute first. I want to drink a glass of cider ;
my throat is gummed up like the sticking plaster on Hulot's
best hat."

Now the left-hand side of the garden, which Clef-des-
Coeurs thus neglected to explore at once, was unluckily
that very dangerous bank where Francine had seen men
moving. All is chance in war.

As Gerard entered the saloon and bowed to the company,
he cast a penetrating glance on the men of whom that com-
pany was composed. His suspicions returned upon his mind
with greater strength than ever: he suddenly went to Mile.

A> NOT/ON OF FOUCHE'S.

189

de Verneuil and said to her in a low tone, " I think you
had better withdraw quickly : we are not safe here."

" Are you afraid of anything in my house ? " she asked,
laughing. " You are safer here than you would be at
Mayenne."

A woman always
answers confidently
for her lover : and
the two officers were
less anxious.

The company
immediately went
into the dining-
room, in spite of
some casual men-
tion of a somewhat
important guest
who was late. Mile,
de Verneuil was
able, thanks to the
usual silence at
the beginning of
dinner, to bestow
some attention on

this assembly, which in its actual circumstances was
curious enough, and of which she was in a manner the
cause, in virtue of the ignorance which women, who are
accustomed to take nothing seriously, carry into the most
critical incidents of life. One fact suddenly struck her, — that
the two Republican officers dominated the whole company
by the imposing character of their countenances. Their
long hair drawn back from the temples, and clubbed in a
huge pigtail behind the neck, gave to their foreheads the
pure and noble outline which so adorns youthful heads.

190 THE CHOUANS.

Their threadbare blue uniforms, with the worn red facings,
even their epaulettes flung back in marching, and showing
(as they were wont to do throughout the army, even in the
case of generals,) evidence of the lack of great coats, made a
striking contrast between these martial figures and the
company in which they were.

" Ah ! there is the nation, there is liberty! " thought she ;
then glancing at the Royalists, " and there is a single man,
a king, and privilege ! "

She could not help admiring the figure of Merle, so
exactly did the lively soldier answer to the type of the
French warrior, who can whistle an air in the midst of bullets,
and who never forgets to pass a joke on the comrade who
makes a blunder. Gerard, on the other hand, had a com-
manding presence, grave and cool. He seemed to possess
one of those truly Republican souls who at the time
thronged the French armies, and, inspiring them with a
spirit of devotion as noble as it was unobtrusive, im-
pressed on them a character of hitherto unknown energy.

" There is one of those who take long views," said Mile,
de Verneuil ; " they take their stand on the present, and
dominate it ; they destroy the past, but it is for the good of
the future."

The thought saddened her, because it did not apply to
her lover, towards whom she turned, that she might avenge
herself by a fresh feeling of admiration on the Republic,
which she already began to hate. As she saw the marquis
surrounded by men, bold enough, fanatical enough, and
gifted with sufficient power of speculating on the future, to
attack a victorious Republic, in the hope of restoring a dead
monarchy, a religion laid under interdict, princes errant, and
privileges out of date, she thought, " He at least looks as far
as the other, for, amid the ruins where he ensconces himself,
he is striving to make a future out of the past."

A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 191

Her mind, feeding full on fancies, wavered between the
new ruins and the old. Her conscience indeed warned her
that one man was fighting for a single individual, the other
for his country : but sentiment had carried her to the same
point at which others arrive by a process of reasoning — to the
acknowledgment that the king is the country.

The marquis, hearing the steps of a man in the saloon,
rose to go and meet him. He recognized the belated guest,
who, surprised at his company, was about to speak. But
the Gars hid from the Republicans the sign which he made
desiring the new-comer to be silent and join the feast. As
the two officers studied the countenances of their hosts, the
suspicions which they had first entertained revived. The
Abb6 Gudin's priestly garb, and the eccentricity of the
Chouans' attire, alarmed their prudence : they became more
watchful than ever, and soon made out some amusing
contrasts between the behaviour and the language of the
guests. While the Republicanism which some .showed was
exaggerated, the ways of others were aristocratic in the
extreme. Some glances which they caught passing between
the marquis and his guests, some phrases of double meaning
indiscreetly uttered, and, most of all, the full round beards
which adorned the throats of several guests, and which were
hidden awkwardly enough by their cravats, at last told the
two officers a truth which struck both at the same moment.
They communicated their common thought to each other by
a single interchange of looks : for Madame du Gua had
dexterously divided them, and they were confined to eye-
language. Their situation made it imperative that they
should behave warily, for they knew not whether they were
masters of the chateau or had fallen into an ambuscade,
whether Mile, de Verneuil was the dupe or the accomplice
of this puzzling adventure. But an unforeseen event hastened
the catastrophe before they had had time to estimate its full

192 THE CHOUANS.

gravity. The new guest was one of those high complexioned
persons, squarely built throughout, who lean back as they
walk, who seem to make a commotion in the air around
them, and who think that everyone will take more looks
than one as they pass. Despite his rank, he had taken life
as a joke, which one must make the best of : but though a
worshipper of self, he was good-natured, polite, and intelli-
gent enough after the fashion of those country gentlemen,
who, having finished their education at court, return to their
estates, and will not admit the idea that they can even in a
score of years have grown rusty there. Such men make a
grave blunder with perfect self-possession, say silly things in
a witty way, distrust good fortune with a great deal of
shrewdness, and take extraordinary pains to get themselves
into a mess. When, by plying knife and fork in the style of
a good trencherman, he had made up for lost time, he cast
his eyes over the company. His astonishment was re-
doubled as he saw the two officers, and he directed a question-
ing glance at Madame du Gua, who by way of sole reply
pointed Mile, de Verneuil out to him. When he saw the
enchantress whose beauty was already beginning to stifle the
feelings which Madame du Gua had excited in the company's
minds, the portly stranger let slip one of those insolent and
mocking smiles which seem to contain the whole of an
equivocal story. He leant towards his neighbour's ear, say-
ing two or three words, and these words, which remained a
secret for the officers and Marie, journeyed from ear to ear,
from lip to lip, till they reached the heart of him on whom
they were to inflict a mortal wound. The Vend^an and
Chouan chiefs turned their glances with merciless curiosity
on the Marquis of Montauran, while those of Madame du
Gua, flashing with joy, travelled from the marquis to the
astonished Mile, de Verneuil. The officers interrogated
each other anxiously but mutely, as they waited for the end

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 193

of this strange scene. Then, in a moment, the forks ceased
to play in every hand, silence reigned in the hall, and all
eyes were concentrated on the Gars. A frightful burst of
rage flushed his face with anger and then bleached it to the
colour of wax. The young chief turned to the guest from
whom this train of slow match had started, and said in a
voice that seemed muffled in crape :

" Death of my life ! Count, is that true ? "

" On my honour," said the count, bowing gravely.

The marquis dropped his eyes for a moment, and then,
raising them quickly, directed them at Marie, who was
watching the struggle, and received a deadly glance.

" I would give my life," said he in a low tone, " for instant
venoreance ! "

o

The mere movement of his lips interpreted this phrase to
Madame du Gua, and she smiled on the young man as one
smiles at a friend whose misery will soon be over. Ihe
scorn for Mile, de Verneuil which was depicted on every
face put the finishing touch to the wrath of the two
Republicans, who rose abruptly.

"What do you desire, citizens ? " asked Madame du Gua.

"Our swords, citizeness" said Gerard with sarcasm.

" You do not need them at table," said the marquis
coldly.

" No, but we are about to play a game which you know,"
answered Gdrard.' " We shall have a little closer view of
each other than we had at the Pilgrim ! "

The assembly was struck dumb : but at the same moment
a volley, discharged with a regularity appalling to the officers,
crashed out in the courtyard. They darted to the entrance
steps, and thence they saw some hundred Chouans taking aim

' The text has here en reparaissant "re-appearing." It has not been said
that Gerard had left the room, nor could he well have aone so. The words
are probably an oversight. — Translator's Note.

C C

194

THE CHOUANS.

at a few soldiers who had survived the first volley, and
shooting them down like hares. The Bretons had come
forth from the bank where Marche-a-Terre had posted them

— a post occupied at the peril of their lives, for as they
executed their movement, and after the last shots died away,
there was heard above the groans of the dying the sound of
some Chouans falling into the water with the splash of stones
dropping into an abyss. Pille-Miche levelled his piece at
Gerard, and Marche-a-Terre covered Merle.

I

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 195

" Captain," said the marquis coolly to Merle, repeating
the words which the Republican had uttered respecting himself,
"jj'tf« see, meti are like medlars, they ripen on straw." And with
a wave of his hand he showed him the whole escort of Blues
stretched on the blood-stained litter, where the Chouans
were despatching the living and stripping the dead with
incredible rapidity. " I was right in telling you that your
soldiers would not reach the Pilgrim," added the marquis ;
" also I think your head will be full of lead before mine
is. What say you .-'"

Montauran felt a hideous desire to sate his rage, and his
irony towards the vanquished, the savagery, and even the
treachery of this military execution, which had been carried
out without his orders, but for which he thus made himself
responsible, corresponded with the secret wishes of his
heart. In his fury he would have annihilated France
itself, and the murdered Blues, with the two ofificers who
were still alive, though all were innocent of the crime for
which he was demanding vengeance, were in his hands like
the cards which a desperate gamester tears with his teeth.

" I would rather perish thus than triumph like you," said
Gerard, and as he saw his men lying naked in their blood,
he cried, " You have foully murdered them ! "

"Yes, sir, as Louis XVI. was murdered," replied the
marquis sharply.

" Sir," replied Gerard haughtily, " there is a mystery in
the trial of a king which you will never comprehend."

" What ! bring a king to trial ! " cried the marquis
excitedly.

" What ! bear arms against France ! " retorted Gerard in
a tone of disdain.

" Nonsense ! " said the marquis.

" Parricide! " cried the Republican.

" Regicide ! " returned the other.

196 THE CHOUANS.

"What!" said Merle, merrily enough, "are you seizing
the moment of your death to bandy arguments ? "

" You say well," said Gerard coolly, turning once more
towards the marquis. " Sir, if it is your intention to kill
us, do us at least the favour to shoot us at once."

"How like you!" struck in the captain, "always in a
hurry to have done ! My good friend, when a man has a
long journey to make, and is not likely to breakfast next
day, he takes time with his supper."

But Gerard, without a word, walked swiftly and proudly
to the wall. Pille-Miche took aim at him, and seeing the
marquis motionles.s, he took his chief's silence for an order,
fired, and the adjutant-major fell like a tree. Marche-a-
Terre ran forward to share this new booty with Pille-Miche,
and they wrangled and grumbled like two hungry ravens
over the still warm corpse.

" If you wish to finish your supper, captain, you are free
to come with me," said the marquis to Merle, whom he
wished to keep for e.xchange.

The captain went mechanically into the house with the
marquis, saying in a low tone, as if reproaching himself, "It
is that devil of a wench who is the cause of this ! What
will Hulot say ? "

" Wench ! " said the marquis, with a stifled cry, " then she
is really and truly a wench ? "

It might have been thought that the captain had dealt a
mortal blow to Montauran, who followed him pale, gloomy,
disordered, and with tottering steps. Meanwhile there had
passed in the dining-room another scene, which in the absence
of the marquis took so sinister a character, that Marie,
finding herself without her champion, might reasonably
believe in the death-warrant she saw in her rival's eyes. At
the sound of the volley every guest had risen save Madame
du Gua.

A NOTION OF FOUCHKS. 197

" Do not be alarmed," said she, " 'tis nothing. Our folk
are only killing the Blues ! " But as soon as she saw that
the marquis had left the room, she started up. " This young
lady here, " she cried, with the calmness of smothered fury,
" came to carry off the Gars from us. She came to try and
give him up to the Republic ! "

" Since this morning I could have given him up twenty
times over," replied Mile, de Verneuil, "and 1 saved his
life instead."

But Madame du Gua dashed at her rival like a flash of
lightning. In her blind excitement she wrenched open the
flimsy frogs on the spencer of the girl {who was taken
unawares by this sudden assault), violated with brutal hand
the sacred asylum where the letter was hidden, tore the
stuff, the trimmings, the corset, the shift, nay, even made the
most of this search so as to slake her jealous hatred, and so
ardently and cruelly mauled the panting breast of her rival
that she left on it the bloody traces of her nails, feeling a
delight in subjecting her to so vile a profanation. As Marie
feebly attempted to withstand the furious woman, her hood
became unfastened and fell, her hair burst its bonds and
rolled down in wavy curls, a modest blush glowed on her
face, and then two tears made their moist and burning way
down her cheeks, leaving her bright eyes brighter still. In
short, the disorder of the struggle exposed her shuddering
to the gaze of the guests, and the most callous judges must
have believed her innocent as they saw her suffer.

Hatred is so blind that Madame du Gua did not notice
that no one listened to her, as in her triumph she cried out,
" See, gentlemen ! have I slandered the horrid creature ? "

" Not so very horrid," whispered the portly guest who
had been the cause of the misfortune ; " for my part, I am
uncommonly fond of horrid things like that ! "

" Here," continued the vindictive Vendean lady, " is an

igS THE CHOUANS.

order, signed ' Laplace,' and countersigned ' Dubois.' " At
these names some persons raised their heads in attention.
" And this is its tenor," went on Madame du Gua : " ' Citizen
commandants of the forces of all ranks, district administrators,
procurators, syndics, and so forth, in the revolted departments,
and especially those of the places where the ci-devant Marquis
de Montatirati, brigand-chief stirnamed the Gars, may de found,
are to afford succour and help to the citizeness Marie Verneuil,
and to obey any orders which she may give them, each in such
matters as concern him., etc., etc' "

" To think of an opera girl taking an illustrious name in
order to soil it with such infamy ! " she added. The com-
pany showed a movement of surprise.

" The game is not fair if the Republic employs such
pretty women against us ! " said the Baron du Guenic,
pleasantly.

" Especially girls who have nothing left to stake," rejoined
Madame du Gua.

" Nothing ? " said the Chevalier du Vissard. " Why,
mademoiselle has resources which must bring her in a
plenteous income ! "

"The Republic must be in very merry mood to send
ladies of pleasure to lay traps for us ! " cried Abbe Gudin.

" But, unluckily, mademoiselle looks for pleasures which
kill," said Madame du Gua, with an expression of hideous
joy, which denoted the end of her jokes.

" How is it then that you are still alive, madame ? " said
the victim, regaining her feet after repairing the disorder
of her dress. This stinging epigram produced some respect
for so undaunted a martyr, and struck silence on the company.
Madame du Gua saw flitting over the chiefs' lips a sarcastic
smile which maddened her ; and not perceiving that the
marquis and the captain had come in, " Pille-Miche," she
said to the Chouan, " take her away ; she is my share of the

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

199

spoil ; and I give her to you. Do with her whatever
you Hke."

As she spoke the word "whatever," the company shud-
dered, for the frightful heads of Pille-Miche and Marche-a-
Terre showed themselves behind the marquis, and the
meaning of the in-
tended punishment
appeared in all its
horror.

Francine re-
mained standing,
her hands clasped,
her eyes streaming,
as if thunderstruck.
But Mile, de Ver-
neuil, who in the
face of danger re-
covered all her pre-
sence of mind, cast
a look of disdain
at the assembly,
repossessed herself

of the letter which Madame du Gua held, raised her head,
and with eyes dry, but flashing fire, darted to the door
where stood Merle's sword. Here she met the marquis,
cold and motionless as a statue. There was no plea in her
favour on his face with its fixed and rigid features. Struck to
the heart, she felt life become hateful. So then the man who
had shown her such affection had just listened to the jeers
which had been heaped upon her, and had remained an
unmoved witness of the outrage she had suffered when
those beauties, which a woman keeps as the privilege of
love, had been subjected to the common gaze. She might
perhaps have pardoned Montauran for his contemptuous

200 THE CHOUANS.

feelings : she was indignant at having been seen by him in
a posture of disgrace. She darted at him a glance full of
half-irrational hatred, and felt terrible desires of vengeance
springing up in her heart. With death dogging her steps,
her impotence choked her. As it were a whirlwind of
madness rose to her brain, her boiling blood made her
see everything around in the glare of a conflagration : and
then, in.stead of killing herself, she seized the sword,
flourished it at the marquis, and drove it on him up to the
hilt. But the blade slipped between his arm and his side ;
the Gars caught Marie by her wrist and dragged her from
the room, assisted by Pille-Mache, who threw himself on
the mad woman at the moment when she tried to kill the
marquis. At this spectacle Francine uttered piercing cries.
"Pierre! Pierre! Pierre!" she shrieked in piteous tones,
and as she cried she followed her mistress.

The marquis left the company to its astonishment, and
went forth, shutting the door after him. When he reached
the entrance steps he was still holding the girl's wrist and
clutching it convulsively, while the nervous hands of Pille-
Miche nearly crushed the bones of her arm : but she felt
only the burning grasp of the young chief, at whom she
directed a cold gaze.

" Sir," she said, " you hurt me."

But the only answer of the marquis was to stare for a
moment at his mistress.

" Have you then something to take base vengeance for,
as well as that woman ? " she said, and then seeing the
corpses stretched on the straw, she cried with a shudder,
" The faith of a gentlemen ! ha ! ha ! ha ! " and after this
burst of hideous laughter, she added, " A happy day ! "

" Yes, a happy one," he answered, " and one without a
morrow ! "

He dropped Mile, de Verneuil's hand, after gazing with a

A NOTION OF FOUCHICS. 201

long last look at the exquisite creature whom he could
hardly bring himself to renounce. Neither of these lofty
spirits would bend. The marquis perhaps expected tears :
but the girl's eyes remained proudly dry. He turned
brusquely away, leaving Pille-Miche his victim.

" Marquis ! " she said, " God will hear me, and I shall
pray Him to give you a happy day without a morrow ! "

Pillc-Miche, who was something embarrassed with so
fair a prey, drew her oft gently, and with a mixture of
respect and contempt. The marquis sighed ; returned to
the chamber, and showed his guests the face as of a dead
man whose eyes have not been closed.

That Captain Merle should still be there was unintelligible
to the actors in this tragedy : and they all looked at him
with surprise, their looks questioning each other. Merle
observed the Chouans' astonishment, and still keeping up
his part, he said to them with a forced smile :

" I hardly think, gentlemen, that you will refuse a glass
of wine to a man who is about to take his last journey." At
the very same minute at which these words were spoken,
with a Gallic gaiety which ought to have pleased the
Vendeans, Montauran reappeared, and his pale face and
glazed eyes chilled all the guests.

" You shall see," said the captain, " that the dead man
will set the living ones going."

" Ah ! " said the marquis, with the gesture of a man sud-
denly awakening, " you are there, my dear Court- Martial ? "

And he handed him a bottle of vin de grave as if to fill
his glass.

" Ah ! no, thanks, citizen marquis. I might lose my head,
you see."

At this sally Madame du Gua said to the guests, smiling :

" Come, let us excuse him the dessert."

"You are very severe in your revenge, madame," said the

D D

20 3 THE CHOUANS.

captain. " You forget my murdered friend, who is waiting
for me. I bide tryst."

" Captain," said the marquis, throwing his glove to him,
" you are a free man. There, that will be your passport.
The King's Huntsmen know that one must not kill down
all the game."

" Life, by all means ! " answered Merle. " But you are
wrong. I give you my word that I shall play the game
strictly with you. You will get no quarter from me. Clever
as you may be, you are not Gerard's equal, and though your
head will never make amends to me for his, I must have it,
and I will have it."

" Why was he in such a hurry .'' " retorted the marquis.

" Farewell ! I could have drunk with my own executioners,
but I cannot stay with the murderers of my friend," said the
captain, disappearing, and leaving the guests in astonishment.

" Well, gentlemen, what do you say now of the aldermen,
the doctors, the lawyers, who govern the Republic ? " said
the Gars coolly.

" God's death ! marquis," answered the Count de Bauvan,
" whatever you may say, they are very ill-mannered. It
seems to me that that fellow insulted us."

But the captain's sudden retirement had a hidden motive.
The girl who had been the subject of so much contumely
and humiliation, and who perhaps was falling a victim at the
very moment, had, during the scene, shown him beauties so
difficult to forget, that he said to himself as he went out :

" If she is a wench, she is no common one : and I can do
with her as a wife."

He doubted so little his ability to save her from these
savages that his first thought after receiving his own life
had been to take her forthwith under his protection. Un-
luckily, when he arrived at the entrance the captain found
the courtyard deserted. He looked around him, listened in

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 203

the silence, and heard nothing but the far-off laughter of the
Chouans, who were drinking in the gardens while sharing
their booty. He ventured to look round the fatal wing in
front of which his men had been shot down, and from the
corner, by the feeble light of a few candles, he could distin-
guish the various groups of the King's Huntsmen. Neither
Pille-Miche nor Marche-a-Terre nor the young lady was
there : but at the same moment he felt the skirt of his coat
gently pulled, and turning, he saw Francine on her knees.

" Where is she ? " said he.

" I do not know. Pierre drove me away, telling me not
to stir."

" Which way have they gone ? "

" That way," said she, pointing to the causeway. The
captain and Francine then saw in this direction certain
shadows thrown by the moonlight on the waters of the lake,
and they recognized feminine outlines whose elegance, in-
distinct as they were, made both their hearts beat.

" Oh, it is she ! " said the Breton girl.

Mile, de Verneuil appeared to be quietly standing in the
midst of a group whose attitudes indicated discussion.

" They are more than one ! " cried the captain. " Never
mind : let us go."

" You will get yourself killed to no profit," said Francine.

" I have died once to-day already," answered he lightly.
And both bent their steps towards the dark gateway behind
which the scene was passing. In the midst of the way
Francine halted.

"No! I will go no farther!" said she gently. "Pierre
told me not to meddle. I know him : and we shall spoil all.
Do what you like, Mr. Officer, but pray depart. If Pierre
were to see you with me he would kill you."

At that moment Pille-Miche showed himself outside the
gate, saw the captain, and cried, levelling his gun at him :

204 THE CHOUANS.

"Saint Anne of Auray ! the rector of Antrain was right
when he said that the Bkies made bargains with the devil !
Wait a bit : I will teach you to come alive again, I will ! "

" Ah ! but I have had my life given me," cried Merle,
seeing the threat. " Here is your chief's glove."

" Yes ! that is just like a ghost ! " retorted the Chouan.
" / won't give you your life. Ave Maria ! "

He fired, and the bullet hit the captain in the head and
dropped him. When Francine drew near Merle she heard
him murmur these words : " I had rather stay with them
than return without them ! "

The Chouan plunged on the Blue to strip him, saying :
" The good thing about these ghosts is that they come alive
again with their clothes on." But when he saw, after the
captain's gesture of showing the chief's glove, this sacred
passport in his hand, he stood dumbfoundered. " I would I
were not in the skin of my mother's son ! " he cried, and
vanished with the speed of a bird.

To understand this meeting, which proved so fatal to the
captain, it is necessary to follow Mile, de Verneuil. When
the marquis, overcome with despair and rage, abandoned
her to Pille-Miche, at that moment Francine convulsively
caught Marche-a-Terrc's arm, and reminded him with tears
in her eyes of the promise he had made her. A few paces
from them Pille-Miche was dragging off his victim, just as he
would have hauled after him any worthless burden. Marie,
with streaming hair and bowed head, turned her eyes towards
the lake : but, held back by a grasp of steel, she was obliged
slowly to follow the Chouan, who turned more than once
either to look at her or to hasten her steps, and at each turn
some festive thought sketched on his face a horrible smile.

" Isn't she smart f " he cried, with clumsy emphasis.

As she heard these words Francine recovered her speech.

" Pierre ! " she said.

A NOT/ ON OF FOUCHES.

205

"Well?"

" Is he going to kill mademoiselle ?" .

" Not at once," answered Marche-a-Terre.

" But she will not take it quietly, and if she dies, I will
die ! "

" Ah ! very well — you are
too fond of her. Let her die ! "
said Marche-a-Terre.

"If we are ever rich and
happy, it is to her that we shall
owe our happiness. But what
does that matter ? Did you
not promise to save
her from all evil ? "

" I will try ; but
stay you there, and
do not budge."

Marche-a-Terre's
arm was at once
released, and Fran-
cine, a prey to the

most terrible anxiety, waited in the courtyard. Marche-
a-Terre rejoined his comrade at the moment when Pille-
Miche had entered the barn, and had forced his victim to get
into the carriage. He now demanded the help of his mate
to run it out

" What are you going to do with all this .-' " asked
Marche-a-Terre.

" Well, the Grande-Garce has given me the woman : and
all she has is mine."

" That is all very well as to the carriage ; you will make
some money of it. But the woman will scratch your eyes
out.

Pille-Miche laughed loudly, and replied :

2o6 THE CHOUANS.

" Why/ I shall carry her to my place, and tie her hands."

"Well, then, let us put the horses to," said Marche-a-
Terre; and a moment later, leaving his comrade to guard
the prey, he brought the carriage out of the door on to the
causeway. Pille-Miche got in by Mile, de Verneuil, but did,
not notice that she was gathering herself up for a spring
into the lake.

" Hullo ! Pille-Miche," cried Marche-a-Terre, suddenly.

" What ? "

" I will buy your whole booty from you."

"Are you joking ?" asked the Chouan, pulling his prisoner
towards him by her skirts as a butcher might pull a calf
trying to escape.

" Let me see her : I will make you a bid."

The unhappy girl was obliged to alight, and stood be-
tween the two Chouans, each of whom held her by a hand,
staring at her as the elders must have stared at Susanna in
her bath.

" Will you take," said Marche-a-Terre, heaving a sigh,
"will you take thirty good livres a year ? "

" You Tnean it .'' "

" Done ! " said Marche-a-Terre, holding out his hand.

"And done ! There is plenty in that to get Breton girls
with, and smart ones, too ! But whose is the carriage to
be ?" said Pille-Miche, thinking better of it.

" Mine !" said Marche-a-Terre, in a terrific tone of voice,
exhibiting the kind of superiority over all his mates which
was given him by his ferocious character.

" But suppose there is gold in the carriage .'' "

" Did you not say ' Done .'' ' "

' Balzac has put some jargon in Pille-Miche's mouth. He is said to
have written Les Chouans on the spot : but quien, itou, &c., are not, I
think, Breton, and are suspiciously identical with the words in the famous
j^atots-scenes in Molifere's Don Juan. — Translator s Note.

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

207

" Yes, I did."

" Well, then, go and fetch the postilion who lies bound
in the stable."

" But suppose there is gold in "

" Is there ? " asked Marche-a-Terre roughly of Marie,
jogging her arm.

" I have about a hundred crowns," answered Mile, de
Verneuil.

At these words the two Chouans exchanged looks.

«o8 THE CHOUANS.

" Come, good friend, let us not quarrel about a Blue
girl," whispered Pille-Miche to Marche-a-Terre. " Let us
tip her into the pond with a stone round her neck, and
share the hundred crowns ! "

" I will give you them out of my share of D'Orgemont's
ransom," cried Marche-a-Terre, choking down a growl
caused by this sacrifice.

Pille-Miche, with a hoarse cry of joy, went to fetch the
postilion, and his alacrity brought bad luck to the captain,
who met him. When Marche-a-Terre heard the shot, he
rushed quickly to the spot, where Francine, still aghast,
was praying by the captain's body on her knees, and with
clasped hands, so much terror had the sight of the murder
struck into her.

" Run to your mistress," said the Chouan to her abruptly,
" she is saved."

He himself hastened to fetch the postilion, returned with
the speed of lightning, and, as he passed again by the body
of Merle, caught sight of the Gars's glove still clutched con-
vulsively in the dead man's hand.

"O ho!" cried he, "Pille-Miche has struck a foul blow
there ! He is not sure of living on his annuity ! " He
tore the glove away, and said to Mile, de Verneuil, who
had already taken her place in the coach by P^rancine's
side, " Here ! take this glove. If anyone attacks you on the
way, cry 'Oh! the Gars!' show this passport, and no
harm will happen to you. Francine," he added, turning to
her and pressing her hand hard, " we are quits with this
woman. Come with me, and let the devil take her ! "

" You would have me abandon her now f " answered
Francine in a sorrowful tone.

Marche-a-Terre scratched his ear and his brow : then
lifted his head with a savage look in his eyes.

" You are right ! " he said. " I will leave you to her for

'i4 NO HON OF FOU CHE'S. 209

a week. If after that you do not come with me "

He did not finish his sentence, but clapped his pahn
fiercely on the muzzle of his rifle, and after taking aim at
his mistress in pantomime, he made off without waiting
for a reply.

The Chouan had no sooner gone than a voice, which
seemed to come from the pond, cried in a low tone,
" Madame ! madame ! " The postilion and the two women
shuddered with horror, for some corpses had floated up to
the spot. But a Blue, who had been hidden behind a tree,
showed himself :

" Let me get up on your coach-box, or I am a dead man,"
said he. " That damned glass of cider that Clef-des-Cceurs
would drink, has cost more than one pint of blood ! If he
had done like me and made his rounds, our poor fellows
would not be there floating like barges."

While these things went on without, the chiefs who had
been delegated from La Vendee, and those of the Chouans,
were consulting, glass in hand, under the presidency of the
Marquis of Montauran. The discussion, which was en-
livened by frequent libations of Bordeaux, became of serious
importance towards the end of the meal. At dessert, when
a common plan of operations had been arranged, the
Royalists drank to the health of the Bourbons : and just
then Pille-Miche's shot gave as it were an echo of the
ruinous war which these gay and noble conspirators wished
to make on the Republic. Madame du Gua started : and'
at the motion, caused by her delight at thinking herself
relieved of her rival, the company looked at each other in
silence, while the marquis rose from table and went out.

" After all, he was fond of her," said Madame du Gua
sarcastically. "Go and keep him company, M. de Fontaine.
He will bore us to extinction if we leave him to his blue
devils."

E E

2IO THE C HO VANS.

She went to the window looking on the courtyard to try
to see the corpse of Marie, and from this point she was able
to descry, by the last rays of the setting moon, the coach
ascending the avenue with incredible speed, while the veil
of Mile, de Verneuil, blown out by the wind, floated from
within it. Seeing this, Madame du Gua left the meeting in
a rage. The marquis, leaning on the entrance balustrade,
and plunged in sombre thought, was gazing at about a
hundred and fifty Chouans who, having concluded the
partition of the booty in the gardens, had come back to
finish the bread and the cask of cider promised to the
Blues. These soldiers (new style) on whom the hopes of
the Monarchy rested were drinking in knots : while on the
bank which faced the entrance seven or eight of them
amused themselves with tying stones to the corpses of the
Blues, and throwing them into the water. This spectacle,
added to the various pictures made up by the strange
costume and savage physiognomies of the reckless and
barbarous gars, was so singular and so novel to M. de
Fontaine, who had had before him in the Vendean troops
some approach to nobility and discipline, that he seized the
occasion to say to the Marquis of Montauran :

" What do you hope to make of brutes like these ? "

" Nothing much, you think, my dear count?" answered
the Gars.

" Will they ever be able to manoeuvre in face of the
Republicans .'' "

" Never."

" Will they be able even to comprehend and carry out
your orders ? "

" Never."

" Then what good will they do you ? "

" The good of enabling me to stab the Republic to the
heart ! " answered the marquis in a voice of thunder.

54 NOTION OF POUCHES. 211

"The good of giving me Fougeres in three days, and all
Brittany in ten! Come, sir!" he continued in a milder
tone ; " go you to La Vendee. Let D'Autichamp, Suzannet,
the Abbe Bernier, make only as much haste as I do : let
them not treat with the First Consul, as some would have
me fear. And," he squeezed the Vendean's hand hard, " in
twenty days we shall be within thirty leagues of Paris !"

" But the Republic is sending against us sixty thousand
men and General Brune I "

" What, sixty thousand, really ? " said the marquis with
a mocking laugh. " And what will Bonaparte make the
Italian campaign with ? As for General Brune, he is not
coming. Bonaparte has sent him against the English in
Holland ; and General Hedouville, the friend of our friend
Barras, takes his place here. Do you understand me .'' "

When he heard the marquis speak thus, M. de Fontaine
looked at him with an arch and meaning air, which seemed
to reproach him with not himself understanding the hidden
sense of the words addressed to him. The two gentlemen
from this moment understood each other perfectly ; but the
young chief answered the thoughts thus expressed by looks
with an indefinable smile.

" M. de Fontaine, do you know my arms .'' Our motto
is Persevere unto death."

The count took Montauran's hand, and pressed it, saying :
" I was left for dead at the Four- Ways, so you are not
likely to doubt me. But believe my experience : times
are changed."

" They are, indeed," said La Billardiere, who joined
them ; " you are young, marquis. Listen to me. Not all
your estates have been sold "

" Ah ! can you conceive devotion without sacrifice ? "
said Montauran.

" Do you know the King well ? " said La Billardiere.

212 THE CHOUAXS.

" I do."

" Then I admire you."

" King and priest are one ! " answered the young chief,
" and I fight for the faith ! "

They parted, the Vendean convinced of the necessity of
letting events take their course, and keeping his behefs in
his heart ; La Billardiere to return to England, Montauran
to fight desperately, and to force the Vendeans by the
successes of which he dreamed, to join his enterprises.

The course of events had agitated Mile, de Verneuil's
soul with so many emotions that she dropped exhausted,
and as it were dead, in the corner of the carriage, after
giving the order to drive to Fougeres. Francine imitated
her mistress's silence, and the postilion, who was in dread
of some new adventure, made the best of his way to the
high road, and soon reached the summit of the Pilgrim.
Then Marie de Verneuil crossed in the dense white fog of
early morning the beautiful and spacious valley of the
Couesnon where our story began, and hardly noticed from
the top of the hill the schistous rock whereon is built
the town of Fougeres, from which the travellers were still
some two leagues distant. Herself perished with cold, she
thought of the poor soldier who was behind the carriage,
and insisted, despite his refusals, on his taking the place next
Francine. The sight of Fougeres drew her for a moment
from her reverie : and besides, since the guard at the gate
of Saint Leonard refused to allow unknown persons to enter
the town, she was obliged to produce her letter from the
Government. She found herself safe from all hostile
attempts when she had entered the fortress, of which, at
the moment, its inhabitants formed the sole garrison : but
the postilion could find her no better resting-place than the
auberge de la Poste. «

" Madame," said the Blue whom she had rescued, " if

A NOTION OF POUCHES.

213

you ever want a sabre cut administered to any person, my
life is yours. I am good at that. My name is Jean Faucon,
called Beau-Pied, sergeant in the first company of Hulot's
boys, the seventy-second demi-brigade, surnamed the

Mayen^aise. Excuse my presumption, but I can only
offer you a sergeant's life, since, for the moment, I have
nothing else to put at your service." He turned on his
heel and went his way, whistling.

" The lower one goes in society," said Marie bitterly,
" the less of ostentation one finds, and the more of generous
sentiment : a marquis returns me death for life : a sergeant
But there, enough of this ! "

214 THE CHOUANS.

When the beautiful Parisian had bestowed herself in a
well-warmed bed, her faithful Francine expected, in vain,
her usual affectionate good-night ; but her mistress, seeing
her uneasy, and still standing, made her a sign, full of
sadness :

" They call that a day, Francine ! " she said. " I am ten
years older."

Next morning, as she was getting up, Corentin presented
himself to call upon Marie, who permitted him to enter,
saying to Francine : "My misfortune must be immense :
for I can even put up with the sight of Corentin."

Nevertheless, when she saw the man once more, she felt
for the thousandth time the instinctive repugnance which
two years' acquaintance had not been able to check.

" Well ? " said he, with a smile, " I thought you were
going to succeed. Was it not he whom you had got
hold of ? "

"Corentin," she said, slowly, with a pained expression, "say
nothing to me about this matter till I speak of it myself."

He walked up and down the room, casting side-long
looks at Mile, de Verneuil, and trying to divine the secret
thouirhts of this singular trirl, whose (jlance was of force
enough to disconcert, at times, the cleverest men. " I
foresaw your defeat," he went on, after a minute's silence. ■
" If it pleases you to make your headquarters in this town,
I have already acquainted myself with matters. We are in
the very heart of Chouanism. Will you stay here ? "

She acquiesced with a nod of the head, which enabled
Corentin to guess with partial truth the events of the night
before.

" I have hired you a house which has been confiscated
but not sold. They are much behindhand in this country :
and nobody dared to buy the place, because it belongs to an
emigrant who passes for being ill-tempered. It is near

A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S. 215

Saint Leonard's Church, and 'pon honour,' there is a lovely
view from it. Something may be done with the cabin,
which is convenient. Will you come there .■" "

" Immediately," cried she.

" But I must have a few hours more to get things clean
and in order, so that you may find them to your taste."

" What does it matter } " said she. " I could live, without
mmding it, in a cloister or a prison. Nevertheless, pray
manage so that I may be able to rest there this evening in
the most complete solitude. There ! Leave me. Your
presence is intolerable. I wish to be alone with Francine,
with whom I can perhaps get on better than with myself.
Farewell. Go ! Do go ! "

These words, rapidly spoken, and dashed by turns with
coquetry, tyranny, and passion, showed that she had recovered
complete tranquillity. Sleep had no doubt slowly expelled
her impressions of the day before, and reflection determined
her on vengeance. If, now and then, some sombre thoughts
pictured themselves on her face, they only showed the
faculty which some women have of burying the most pas-
sionate sentiments in their souls, and the dissimulation which
allows them to smile graciously while they calculate a
victim's doom. She remained alone, studying how she
could get the marquis alive into her hands. For the first
time she had passed a portion of her life as she could have
wished : but nothing remained with her of this episode but
one feeling — that of thirst for vengeance, vengeance vast arid
complete. This was her sole thought, her single passion.
Francine's words and attentions found her dumb. She
seemed to be asleep with her eyes open, and the whole long
day passed without her making sign by a single gesture or
action of that outward life which reveals our thoughts.

' Corentin says ma padle d'twnneu, using the lisp which was one of the
numerous affectations of the incroyables. — Translator's Note.

2i6 THE CHOUANS.

She remained stretched on an ottoman which she had con-
structed out of chairs and pillows. Only at night-time did
she let fall, carelessly, the following words, looking at
Francine as she spoke :

" Child, I learnt yesterday that one may live for nothing
but love; and to-day I learn that one may die for nothing
but vengeance. Yes! To find him wherever he may be, to
meet him once more, to seduce him and make him mine, I
would give my life ! But if in the course of a few days I do
not find, stretched at my feet in abject humility, this man
who has scorned me — -if I do not make him my slave, — I
shall be less than nothing — I shall be no more a woman — I
shall be no more myself! "

The house which Corentin had suggested to Mile, de
Verneuil gave him opportunity enough to consult the girl's
inborn taste for luxury and elegance. He got together
everything which he knew ought to please her, with the
eagerness of a lover towards his mistress, or, better still,
with the obsequiousness of a man of importance who is
anxious to ingratiate himself with some inferior of whom he
has need. Next day he came to invite Mile, de Verneuil to
take up her quarters in these improvised lodgings.

Although she did little or nothing but change her un-
comfortable ottoman for a sofa of antique pattern which
Corentin had managed to discover for her, the fanciful
Parisian took possession of the house as though it had been
her own property. She showed at once a royal indifference
for everything, and a sudden caprice for quite insignificant
objects of furniture, which she at once appropriated as if they
had been old favourites : traits common enough, but still not
to be rejected in painting exceptional characters. She
seemed as though she had already been familiar with this
abode in dreams, and she subsisted on hatred there as she
might have subsisted in the same place on love.

A NOTION OF POUCHES. 217

" At any rate," said she to herself, " I have not excited in
him a feeHng of the pity which is insulting and mortal. I do
not owe him my life. Oh! first, sole, and last love of mine,
what an ending is yours ! " Then she made a spring on the
startled Francine. "Are you in love? Yes! Yes! I re-
member that you are. Ah ! it is lucky for me that I have
beside me a woman who can enter into my feelings. Well,
my poor Francine, does not man seem to you a horrible
creature .'' Eh .-' He said he loved me : and he could not
stand the feeblest tests. Why, if the whole world had
repulsed him, my heart should have been his refuge : if
the universe had accused him, / would have taken his part.
Once upon a time I saw the world before me full of beings
who went and came, all of them indifferent to me : it was
melancholy, but not odious. Now, what is the world without
him ? Shall he live without me to be near him, to see him, to
speak to him, to feel him, to hold him, — to hold him fast?
Rather will I butcher him myself as he sleeps ! "

Francine gazed at her in horror and silence for a minute.
" Kill the man whom one loves ?" she said in a low voice.

" Yes, when he loves no longer ! "

But after this terrible speech she hid her face in her
hands, sat down, and was silent.

On the next day a man presented himself abruptly before
her without being announced. His countenance was stern.
It was Hulot, and Corentin accompanied him. She raised
her eyes, and shuddered.

" Have you come," she said, " to demand account of your
friends ? They are dead."

" I know it," answered Hulot. "But it was not in the
Republic's service."

"It was for my sake, and by my fault," she replied.
" You were about to speak to me of the country. Does
the country restore life to those who die for her ? Does

F K

2i8 THE CHOUANS.

she even avenge them ? I shall avenge these ! " she cried.
The mournful image of the catastrophe of which she had
been victim had suddenly risen before her, and the gracious
creature in whose eyes modesty was the first artifice of
woman strode like a maniac with convulsive step towards
the astonished commandant.

" In return for these massacred soldiers I will bring to
the axe of your scaffolds a head worth thousands of heads !"
she said. " Women are not often warriors : but old as you
are, you may learn some tricks of war in my school. I will
hand over to your bayonets his ancestors and himself, his
future and his past. As I was kind and true to him, so
now I will be treacherous and false. Yes, commandant,
I will lure this young noble into my embraces, and he shall
quit them only to take his death journey. I will take care
never to have a rival. The wretch has pronounced his
own sentence, ' A day without a morrow ! ' We shall both
be avenged, your Republic and I. Your Republic ! " she
continued, in a voice whose strange variations of tone
alarmed Hulot. " But shall the rebel die for having borne
arms against his country ? Shall France steal my vengeance
from me ? Nay, how small a thing is a life ! One death
atones for only one crime. Yet, if he has but one life to
give, I shall have some hours in which to show him that he
loses more than one life. Above all, commandant (for you
will have the killing of him)," and she heaved a sigh, " take
care that nothing betrays my treason, that he dies sure of
my fidelity. That is all 1 ask of you. Let him see nothing
but me — me and my endearments ! "

She held her peace : but, flushed as was her face, Hulot
and Corentin could see that wrath and fury had not entirely
extinguished modesty. Marie shuddered violently as she
spoke the last words : they seemed to echo in her ears as
if she could not believe that she had uttered them : and she

'A NOTION OF FOUCHE'S.

219

gave a naive start, with the involuntary gesture of a woman
whose veil drops.

" But you had him in your hands ! " said Corentin.

" It is very Hkely," said she bitterly.

"Why did you stop me when I had got him ?" asked
Hulot.

-t-L...>ll>

^- fj^^V****-

" Eh, commandant ! We did not know that it would
prove to be he."

Suddenly the excited woman, who was pacing the room
hastily, and flinging flaming glances at the spectators of the
storm, became calm.

" I had forgotten myself," she said, in a masculine tone.
" What is the good of talking } We must go and find
him."

" Go and find him!" said Hulot. " Take care, my dear
child, to do nothing of the kind. We arc not masters of

aao THE CHOUANS.

the country districts, and if you venture out of the town,
you will be killed or taken before you have gone a hundred
yards."

" Those who are eager for vengeance take no count of
danger," she said, disdainfully dismissing from her presence
the two men, whose sight struck her with shame.

"What a woman!" said Hulot, as he went out with
Corentin. " What a notion it was of those police fellows in
Paris ! But she will never give him up to us," he added,
shaking his head.

" Oh, yes, she will," replied Corentin.

" Don't you see that she loves him ? " rejoined Hulot.

" That is exactly the reason. Besides," said Corentin,
fixing his eyes on the astonished commandant, " I am here
to prevent her making a fool of herself. For in my opinion,
comrade, there is no such thing as love worth three hun-
dred thousand francs."

When this diplomatist, who did not lie abroad, left the
soldier, Hulot gazed after him, and as soon as he heard the
noise of his step no longer, he sighed and said to himself :

" Then it is sometimes a lucky thing to be only a fool

like me ? God's thunder ! If 1 meet the Gars we will

fight it out hand to hand, or my name is not Hulot. For
if that fox there brought him before me as judge, now that
they have set up courts-martial, I should think my con-
science in as sorry a case as the shirt of a recruit who is
going through his baptism of fire ! "

The massacre at the Vivetiere, and his own eagerness to
avenge his two friends, had been as intiuential in making
Hulot resume his command of his demi-brigade as the
answer in which a new minister, Berthier, had assured him
that his resignation could not be accepted under the cir-
cumstances. With the ministerial despatch there had
come a confidential note in which, without informing him

'A NOTION OF FOU CHE'S. 221

fully of Mile, de Verneuil's mission, the minister wrote that
the incident, which lay quite outside warlike operations,
need have no obstructive effect on them. " The share of
the military leaders in this matter should be limited," said
he, " to giving the honourable citizeness such assistance as
opportunity afforded." Therefore, as it was reported to
him that the Chouan movements indicated a concentration
of their forces on Fougeres, Hulot had secretly brought up,
by forced marches, two battalions of his demi-brigade to this
important place. The danger his country ran, his hatred of
aristocracy, whose partisans were threatening a great extent
of ground, and his private friendship, had combined to
restore to the old soldier the fire of his youth.

"And this is the life I longed to lead!" said Mile, de
Verneuil, when she found herself alone with Francine.
" Be the hours as swift as they may, they are to me as
centuries in thought."

Suddenly she caught Francine's hand, and in a tone like
that of the robin who first gives tongue after a storm, slowly
uttered these words : " I cannot help it, child, I see always
before me those charming lips, that short and gently up-
turned chin, those eyes full of fire. I hear the ' hie-up ' of
the postilion. In short, I dream : and why, when 1 wake, is
my hatred so strong ? "

She drew a long sigh, rose, and then for the first time
bent her eyes on the country which was being delivered
over to civil war by the cruel nobleman whom, without
allies, she designed to attack. Enticed by the landscape
she went forth to breathe the open air more freely, and if
her road was chosen by chance, it must certainly have been
by that black magic of our souls which makes us ground our
hopes on the absurd that she was led to the public walks of
the town. The thoughts conceived under the influence of
this charm not seldom come true : but the foresight is then

232

THE CHOUANS.

set down to the power which men call presentiment — a
power unexplained but real, which the passions find always
at their service, like a flatterer who, amid his falsehoods,
sometimes speaks the truth.

^^^rtu*".

-l-Li.iilli

-A-I.....II

CHAPTER III.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

AS the concluding events of this history had much to do
with the disposition of the places in which they
occurred, it is indispensable to describe these places
minutely : for otherwise the catastrophe would be hard to
comprehend.

The town of Fougeres is partly seated on a schistous
rock, which might be thought to have fallen forward from
the hills enclosing the great valley of the Couesnon to the
west, and called by different names in different places. In
this direction the town is separated from these hills by a
gorge, at the bottom of which runs a small stream called
the Nan9on ; the eastward side of the rock looks towards
the same landscape which is enjoyed from the summit of
the Pilgrim ; and the western commands no view but the

2 24 THE CHOUANS.

winding valley of the Nan9on. But there is a spot whence
it is possible to take in a segment of the circle made by the
great valley, as well as the agreeable windings of the small
one which debouches into it. This spot, which was chosen
by the inhabitants for a promenade, and to which Mile, de
Verneuil was making her way, was the precise stage on
which the drama begun at the Vivetiere was to work itself
out : and so, picturesque as the other quarters of Fougeres
may be, attention must be exclusively devoted to the details
of the scene which discovers itself from the upper part of the
Promenade.

In order to give an idea of the appearance which the rock
of Fougeres has when viewed from this side, we may com-
pare it to one of those huge towers round which Saracen
architects have wound, tier above tier, wide balconies con-
nected with others by spiral staircases. The rock culminates
in a Gothic church, whose steeple, smaller spirelets and
buttresses, almost exactly complete the sugarloaf shape.
Before the gate of this church, which is dedicated to Saint
Leonard, there is a small irregularly shaped square, the
earth of which is held up by a wall thrown into the form of
a balustrade, and communicating by a flight of steps with
the public walks. This esplanade runs round the rock like
a second cornice some fathoms below the Square of Saint
Leonard, and affords a wide tree-planted space, which abuts
on the fortifications of the town. Next, some score of yards
below the walls and rocks which support this terrace itself,
due partly to the chance lie of the schist, and partly to
patient industry, there is a winding road called the Queen's
Staircase, wrought in the rock, and leading to a bridge built
over the Nangon by Anne of Brittany. Last of all, under
this road, which holds the place of a third cornice, there are
gardens descending in terraces to the river bank, and
resembling the tiers of a stage loaded with flowers.

A 'DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 225

Parallel to the Promenade, certain lofty rocks, which take
the name of the suburb whence they rise, and are called the
hills of Saint Sulpice, stretch along the river, and sink in a
gentle slope towards the great valley, wherein they curve
sharply towards the north. These rocks, steep, barren, and
bare, seem almost to touch the schists of the Promenade ;
in some places they come within gunshot of them, and they
protect from the northerly winds a narrow valley some
hundred fathoms deep, where the Nanqon, split into three
arms, waters a meadow studded with buildings and
pleasantly wooded.

Towards the south, at the spot where the town properly
so called ends and the Faubourg Saint Leonard begins, the
rock of Fougeres makes a bend, grows less scarped,
diminishes in height, and winds into the great valley, follow-
ing the course of the river, which it thus pushes, close to the
hills of Saint Sulpice, and making a narrow pass, whence the
water escapes in two channels and empties itself into the
Couesnon. This picturesque group of rocky heights is
called the N id-aux- Crocs ; the glen which it forms is named
the valley of Gibarry, and its fat meadows supply a great
part of the butter known to epicures under the name of
Pr^valaye butter.

At the spot where the Promenade abuts on the fortifica-
tions there rises a tower called the Papegaut's Tower, and
on the other side of this square building (on the summit of
which is the house where Mile, de Verneuil was lodged),
there rises sometimes a stretch of wall, sometimes the rock
itself, when it happens to present a sheer face : and the part
of the town which is seated on this impregnable and lofty
pedestal makes as it were a huge half moon, at the end of
which the rocks bend and sweep away, to give passage to
the Nan^on. There lies the gate of Saint Sulpice, leading to
the faubourg of the same name. Then, on a granite tor

G G

226 THE CHOUANS.

commanding three valleys where many roads meet, rise the
ancient crenellated towers of the feudal castle of Fougeres,
one of the hugest of the buildings erected by the dukes of
Brittany, with walls fifteen fathoms high and fifteen feet
thick. To the east it is defended by a pond, whence issues
the Nanqon to fill the moats and turn the mills between the
drawbridge of the fortress and the Porte Saint Sulpice ; to
the west it is protected by the scarped masses of granite
on which it rests.

Thus from the Walks to this splendid relic of the Middle
Ages, swathed in its cloak of ivy and decked out with
towers square or round, in each of which a whole regiment
could be lodged, the castle, the town, and the rock on which
it is built, all protected by straight curtains of wall or scarps
of rock dressed sheer, make a huge horseshoe of precipices,
on the face of which, time aiding them, the Bretons have
wrought some narrow paths. Here and there boulders
project like ornaments : elsewhere water drips from cracks
out of which issue stunted trees. Further off, slabs of
granite, at a less sharp angle than the others, support grass
which attracts the goats. And everywhere the briars, spring-
ing from moist crevices, festoon the black and rugged
surface with rosy garlands. At the end of what looks like a
huge funnel the little stream winds in its meadow of per-
petual greenery, softly disposed like a carpet.

At the foot of the castle, and amidst some knolls of
granite, rises the church dedicated to Saint Sulpice, which
gives its name to the suburb on the other side of the
Nan^on. This suburb, lying as it were at the foot of an
abyss, with its pointed steeple far less in height than the
rocks,* which seem about to fall on the church itself, and its
surrounding hamlet, are picturesquely watered by some

^ The French illustrated text has cloches, a misprint, and nonsense. The
older editions read, properly, roc/ies. — Translators Note.

A 'DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 227

affluents of the Nan9on, shaded by trees and adorned with
gardens. These cut irregularly into the half moon made by
the walks, the town, and the castle, and produce by their
details a graceful contrast to the solemn air of the amphi-
theatre which they front. Finally, the whole of Fougeres,
with its suburbs and churches, with the hills of Saint Sulpice
themselves, is framed in by the heights of Rille, which form
part of the general fringe of the great valley of the Couesnon.
Such are the most prominent features of this natural
panorama, whose main character is that of savage wildness,
softened here and there by smiling passages, by a happy
mixture of the most imposing works of man with the freaks
of a soil tormented by unlooked-for contrasts, and dis-
tinguished by an unexpectedness which produces surprise,
astonishment, and almost confusion. In no part of France
does the traveller see such contrasts, on such a scale of
grandeur, as those which are offered by the great basin of
the Couesnon and the valleys which lurk between the rocks
of Fougeres and the heights of Rille. These are of the rare
kind of beauties, where chance is triumphant, and which
yet lack none of the harmonies of nature. Here are clear,
limpid, running waters ; mountains clothed with the luxu-
riant vegetation of the district ; dark rocks and gay build-
ings ; strongholds thrown up by nature, and granite towers
built by man ; all the tricks of light and shade, all the
contrasts between dififerent kinds of foliage, in which artists
so much delight ; groups of houses, where an active popu-
lation swarms, and desert spaces, where the granite will not
even tolerate the blanched mosses which are wont to cling
to stone :— in short, all the suggestions which can be asked
of a landscape, grace and terror, poetry full of ever new
magic, sublime spectacles, charming pastorals. Brittany is
there in full flower.

The tower called the Papegaut's Tower, on which the

THE CHOUANS.

house occupied by Mile, de Verneuil stands, springs from
the very bottom of the precipice and rises to the staircase
which runs cornice-wise in front of Saint Leonard's Church.
From this house, which is isolated on three sides, the eye
takes in at once the great horseshoe, which starts from the

tower itself, the
winding glen of
the Nan^on, and
Saint Leonard's
Square. It forms
part of a range of
buildings, three
centuries old.

( r..

built of wood,
and lying parallel
to the north
side of the church, ^^ ^'^^SFR with which they
make a blind alley, Wml^^i^^JMm&. opening on a
sloping street which WJWA^^^S^^^ skirts the church
and leads to the /< ^B'^^^"^ g^'e of Saint

Leonard, towards which Mile, de

Verneuil was now descending.

Marie naturally did not think of going into the square in
front of the church, below which she found herself, but bent
her steps towards the Walks. She had no sooner passed
the little green gate in front of the guard, which was then
established in Saint Leonard's gate-tower, than her emotions
were at once subdued to silence by the splendour of the
view. She first admired the great section of the Couesnon
Valley, which her eyes took in from the top of the Pilgrim
to the plateau over which passes the Vitre Road. Then
she rested them on the Nid-aux-Crocs and the windings of
the Gibarry Glen, the crests of which were bathed by the
misty light of the setting sun. She was almost startled

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 229

at the depth of the Nan9on Valley, whose tallest poplars
scarcely reached the garden walks underneath the Queen's
Staircase. One surprise after another opened before her
as she went, until she reached a point whence she could
perceive both the great valley across the Gibarry Glen, and
the charming landscape, framed by the horseshoe of the town,
by the rocks of Saint Sulpice, and by the heights of Rille.
At this hour of the day the smoke from the houses in the
suburb and the valleys made a kind of cloud in the air,
which only allowed objects to be visible as if through a
bluish canopy. The garish tints of day began to fade ; the
firmament became pearl-grey in colour ; the moon threw
her mantle of light over the beautiful abyss, and the whole
scene had a tendency to plunge the soul into reverie, and
help it to call up beloved images. Of a sudden she lost all
interest in the shingled roofs of the Faubourg Saint Sulpice,
in the church, whose aspiring steeple is lost in the depths of
the valley, in the hoary draperies of ivy and clematis that
clothe the walls of the old fortress, across which the Nan^on
boils under the mill-wheels, in the whole landscape. The
setting sun in vain flung gold dust and sheets of crimson on
the pretty houses scattered about the rocks, by the waters, and
in the meadows, for she remained gazing motionless at the
cliffs of Saint Sulpice. The wild hope which had led her
to the Walks had miraculously come true. Across the
ajoncs and the broom that grew on the opposite heights
she thought she could distinguish, despite their goatskin
garments, several of the guests at the Vivetiere. The
Gars, whose least movements stood out against the soft
light of sunset, was particularly conspicuous. A few paces
behind the principal group she saw her formidable foe,
Madame du Gua. For an instant. Mile, de Verneuil
thought she must be dreaming, but her rival's hate soon
gave her proof that the dream was alive. Her rapt

230 THE CHOUANS.

attention to the marquis's slightest gesture prevented her
from observing that Madame du Gua was carefully taking
aim at her with a long fowling-piece. Soon a gunshot woke
the echoes of the mountains, and the bullet whistling close
to Marie showed her her rival's skill.

" She leaves her card upon me ! " said she to herself, with
a smile.

At the same moment numerous cries of " Who goes
there ? " resounded from sentinel to sentinel, from the
castle to the gate of Saint Leonard, and warned the Chouans
of the watchfulness of the men of Fougeres, inasmuch as
the least vulnerable part of their ramparts was so well
guarded.

"'Tis she: and 'tis he!" thought Marie. To go and
seek the marquis, to follow him, to surprise him, were
thoughts which came to her like flashes of lightning. " But
I am unarmed!" she cried, and she remembered that at
the time of leaving Paris she had put in one of her boxes
an elegant dagger, which had once been worn by a sultana,
and with which she chose to provide herself on her way to
the seat of war, like those pleasant folk who equip them-
selves with notebooks to receive their impressions of travel.
But she had then been less induced by the prospect of hav-
ing blood to shed, than by the pleasure of wearing a pretty
gemmed kandjar, and of playing with its blade, as clear as
the glance of an eye. Three days earlier, when she had
longed to kill herself in order to escape the horrible punish-
ment which her rival designed for her, she had bitterly re-
gretted having left this weapon in her box. She quickly went
home, found the dagger, stuck it in her belt, drew a large
shawl close round her shoulders and waist, wrapped her
hair in a black lace mantilla, covered her head with a flapping
Chouan hat belonging to one of the servants, and, with the
presence of mind which passion sometimes lends, took the

A 3 AY WITHOUT A MORROW.

231

marquis's glove which Marche-a-Terre had given her for a
passport. Then, replying to Francine's alarms: "What
would you have? I would go to seek him in hell!" she
returned to the Promenade.

The Gars was still on the same spot, but alone. Judging
from the direction of his telescope, he appeared to be
examining with a soldier's careful
scrutiny the different crossins
over the Nanqon, the Queen's
Staircase, and the road which,
starting from the gate of
Saint Sulpice, winds
past the church and
joins the highway under
the castle guns. Mile.
de Verneuil slipped
into the by-paths
traced by the goats
and their herds on
the slopes of the Pro-
menade, reached the
Queen's Staircase, ar-
rived at the bottom
of the cliff, crossed

the Nan^on, and traversed the suburb. Then guessing,
like a bird in the desert, her way across the dangerous
scarps of the Saint Sulpice crags, she soon gained a
slippery path traced over granite blocks, and in spite of
the broom, the prickly ajoncs, and the screes with which it
bristled, she set herself to climb it with a degree of energy
which it maybe man nevers knows, but which woman, when
hurried on by passion, may for a time possess. Night over-
took her at the moment when, having reached the summit,
she was looking about by help of the pale moon's rays for

+U«,I

232 THE CHOUANS.

the road which the marquis must have taken. Persevering
but fruitless explorations, and the silence which prevailed in
the country, showed her that the Chouans and their chief
had withdrawn. The exertion which passion had enabled
her to make flagged with the hope which had inspired it.
Finding herself alone, benighted, and in the midst of a country
unknown to her and beset by war, she began to reflect :
and Hulot's warning and Madame du Gua's shot made her
shudder with fear. The stillness of night, so deep on the
hills, allowed her to hear the smallest falling leaf even a
great way off, and such slight noises kept vibrating in the
air as though to enable her to take sad measure of the
solitude and the silence. In the upper sky the wind blew
fresh, and drove the clouds violently before it, producing
waves of shadow and light, the effects of which increased
her terror by giving a fantastic and hideous appearance to
the most harmless objects. She turned her eyes to the
houses of Fougeres, whose homely lights burnt like so many
earthly stars : and suddenly she had a distinct view of the
Papegaut's Tower. The distance which she must travel in
order to return to it was nothing : but the road was a preci-
pice. She had a good enough memory of the depths
bordering the narrow path by which she had come to know
that she was in more danger if she retraced her steps to
Fougeres than if she pursued her adventure. The thought
occurred to her that the marquis's glove would free her night
walk from all danger if the Chouans held the country : her
only formidable foe was Madame du Gua. As she thought
of her, Marie clutched her dagger, and tried to make
her way towards a house whose roof she had seen by
glimpses as she reached the crags of Saint Sulpice. But
she made slow progress, for the majestic gloom which
weighs on a being who is alone in the night in the
midst of a wild district, whe^e lofty mountain-tops bow

A DAY WFTHOUT A MORROW. 233

their heads on all sides, like a meeting of giants, was new
to her.

The rustle of her dress caught by the ajoncs made her
start more than once, and more than once she hurried,
slackening her pace again as she thought that her last hour
was come. But before long the surroundings took a cha-
racter to which the boldest men might have succumbed, and
threw Mile, de Verneuil into one of those panics which bear
so hardly on the springs of life, that everything, strength or
weakness, takes a touch of exaggeration in different indivi-
duals. At such times the feeblest show an extraordinary
strength, and the strongest go mad with terror. Marie
heard, at a short distance, curious noises at once distinct
and confused, just as the night was at once dark and clear.
They seemed to show alarm and tumult, the ear straining
itself in vain to comprehend them. They rose from the
bosom of the earth, which seemed shaken under the feet of
a vast multitude of men marching. An interval of light
allowed Mile, de Verneuil to see, a few paces from her, a
long file of ghastly figures, swaying like ears in a cornfield,
and slipping along like ghosts. But she could only just see
them, for the darkness fell again like a black curtain and hid
from her a terrible picture full of yellow flashing eyes. She
started briskly backwards and ran to the top of a slope, so
as to escape three of the terrible shapes who were coming
towards her.

" Did you see him ? " asked one.

" I felt a cold blast as Ac passed near me," answered a
hoarse voice.

" For me, I breathed the damp air and smell of a grave-
yard," said the third.

" Was /le white .-' " went on the first.

" Why," said the second, " did /le alone of all those who
fell at the Pilgrim come back .•* "

H H

234

THE CHOUANS.

" Why ? " said the third, " why are those who belong to
the Sacred Heart made favourites? For my part, 1 would
rather die without confession than wander as he does with-
out eating or drinking, without blood in his veins, or flesh
on his bones."

fi^fS'*-'^

-H...,ll.

Ah

This exclamation, or rather cry of horror, burst from the
group as one of the three Chouans pointed out the slender
form and pale face of Mile, de Verneuil, who fled with
terrifying speed, and without their hearing the least noise.

"He is there!" "He is here!" "Where is he.?"

"There!" "Here!

He

is

gone

!" "No!" "Yes!"

" Do you see him ? " The words echoed like the dull plash
of waves on the shore.

Mile, de Verneuil stepped boldly out in the direction of

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 235

the house, and saw the indistinct forms of a multitude of
persons who fled as she approached with signs of panic
terror. It was as though she was carried along by an un-
known power, whose influence was too much for her : and
the lightness of her body, which seemed inexplicable, became
a new subject of alarm to herself. These forms, which rose
in masses as she came near, and as if they came from
beneath the ground where they appeared to be stretched,
uttered groans which were not in the least human. At last
she gained, with some difficulty, a ruined garden whose
hedges and gates were broken through. She was stopped by
a sentinel : but she showed him her glove, and, as the moon-
light shone on her face, the rifle dropped from the Chouan's
hands as he levelled it at Marie, and he uttered the same
hoarse cry which was echoing all over the country. She
could see a large range of buildings where some lights
indicated inhabited rooms, and she reached the walls
without finding any obstacle. Through the very first
window to which she bent her steps, she saw Madame du
Gua with the chiefs who had been assembled at the
Vivetiere. Losing her self-command, partly at the sight,
partly through her sense of danger, she flung herself sharply
back on a small opening guarded by thick iron bars, and
distinguished, in a long vaulted apartment, the marquis,
alone, melancholy, and close to her. The reflections of the
fire, before which he was sitting in a clumsy chair, threw on
his face ruddy flickers which gave the whole scene the
character of a vision. Trembling, but otherwise motionless,
the poor girl clung close to the bars, and in the deep silence
which prevailed she hoped to hear him if he spoke. As
she saw him dejected, discouraged, pale, she flattered her-
self that she was one of the causes of his sadness. And
then her wrath changed to pity, her pity to affection : and
she felt all of a sudden that what had brought her there was

236 THE CHOUANS.

not merely vengeance. The marquis turned his head and
stood aghast as he saw, as if in a cloud, the face of Mile, de
Verneuil ; he let slip a gesture of scorn and impatience as
he cried, " Must 1 then see this she-devil always : even
when I am awake ? "

The profound disdain which he had conceived for her
drew from the poor girl a frenzied laugh, which made the
young chief start ; he darted to the casement, and Mile, de
Verneuil fled. She heard close behind her the steps of a
man whom she thought to be Montauran : and in order to
escape him nothing seemed to her an obstacle. She could
have scaled walls and flown in the air : she could have
taken the road to hell itself in order to avoid reading once
more in letters of fire the words " He despises you ! " which
were written on the man's forehead, and which her inner
voice shouted to her, as she went, with trumpet sound.
After going she knew not whither, she stopped, feeling a
damp air penetrate her being. Frightened at the steps of
more persons than one, and urged by fear, she ran down a
staircase which led her to the bottom of a cellar. When she
had reached the lowest step she hearkened, trying to dis-
tinguish the direction which her pursuers were taking ; but
though there was noise enough outside, she could hear the
doleful groanings of a human voice, which added to her
terror. A flash of light which came from the top of the
stair made her fear that her persecutors had discovered her
retreat : and her desire to escape them gave her new
strength. She could not easily explain to herself, when
shortly afterwards she collected her thoughts, in what way
she had been able to climb upon the dwarf wall where she
had hidden herself. She did not even at first perceive the
cramped position which the attitude of her body inflicted on
her. But the cramp became unbearable before long : for
she looked, under a vaulted arch, like a statue of the crouch-

A BAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

237

ing Venus stuck by an amateur in too narrow a niche.
The wall, which was pretty wide and built of granite, formed
a partition between the stairway itself and a cellar from
whence the groans came. Soon she
saw a man whom she did not know,
covered with goatskins, descending
beneath her, and turning under
the vaulting without giving any
sign of hasty search. Impatient
to know whether any chance of
safety would present itself, Mile.
de Verneuil, anxiously
waited for the
light which the
stranger carried
to lighten the
cellar, on whose
floor she per-
ceived a shape-
less but living
heap, which was
making endea-
vours to reach a
certain part of the
wall by a vio-
lent succession of
movements, re-
sembling the ir-
regular writhings of a
carp stranded on the

bank. A small torch of resin soon diffused its bluish and
uncertain light in the cellar. Despite the romantic gloom
which Mile, de Verneuil's imagination shed upon the vaults
as they re-echoed the sounds of dolorous supplication, she

y/-^

-H....II.

238 THE CHOUANS.

could not help perceiving the plain fact that she was in an
underground kitchen, long disused. When the light was
thrown upon the shapeless heap, it became a short and very
fat man, all whose limbs had been carefully tied, but who
seemed to have been left on the damp flags without further
attention by those who had seized him. At sight of the
stranger, who held the torch in one hand and a faggot in
the other, the prisoner muttered a deep groan, which had
so powerful an effect on Mile, de Verneuil's feelings that
she forgot her own terror, her despair, and the horrible
cramped position of her limbs, which were stiffening from
being doubled up. She did all she could to remain motion-
less. The Chouan threw his faggot into the fireplace after
trying the strength of an old pot-hook and chain which hung
down a tall iron fire-back, and lighted the wood with his
torch. It was not without terror that Mile, de Verneuil then
recognized the cunning Pille-Miche, to whom her rival had
delivered her up, and whose face, with the flame flickering
on it, resembled the grotesque mannikins that the Germans
carve in boxwood. The wail which had escaped the captive
brought a huge smile on his countenance, which was furrowed
with wrinkles and tanned by the sun.

" You see," he said to the victim, " that Christians like
us do not break their word as you do. The fire here will
take the stiffness out of your legs, and your hands, and your
tongue. But there ! there ! I can't see a dripping-pan to
put under your feet. They are so plump : they might put
the fire out. Your house must be very ill furnished that a
man cannot find wherewithal to serve its master properly
when he warms himself!"

The sufferer uttered a sharp yell, as if he hoped to make
himself heard outside the vaults, and bring a deliverer.

" Oh ! you can sing to your heart's content, Monsieur
d'Orgemont ! They have all gone to bed upstairs, and

A i5aY without a morrow. 239

Marche-a-Terre is coming after me. He will shut the cellar
door."

As he spoke Pille-Miche sounded with his rifle-butt the
chimney-piece, the flags that paved the kitchen floor, the
walls, and the stoves, to try and find the hiding-place where
the miser had put his gold. The search was conducted
with such skill that d'Orgemont held his breath, as if he
feared to have been betrayed by some frightened servant :
for, though he had not made a confidant of anyone, his ways
of life might have given occasion to shrewd inferences.
From time to time Pille-Miche turned sharply round to
look at his victim, as if he were playing the children's game
where they try to guess, by the unguarded expression of
someone who has hidden a given object, whether they are
" warm " or "cold." D'Orgemont pretended a certain terror
as he saw the Chouan striking the stoves, which returned a
hollow sound, and seemed to wish thus to amuse Pille-
Miche's credulous greed for a time. At that moment three
other Chouans, plunging into the staircase, made their
appearance suddenly in the kitchen.

" Marie Lambrequin has come alive again !" said Marche-
a-Terre, with a look and gesture which showed that all other
matters of interest grew trifling beside such important news.

" I am not surprised at that," answered Pille-Miche.
" He used to take the Communion so often ! You would
have thought that le bon Dieu was his private property."

"Yes! But," said Mene-a-Bien, "that did him as much
good as shoes do to a dead man. It seems he had not
received absolution before the affair at the Pilgrim : he
had played the fool with Goguelu's girl, and thus was caught
in mortal sin. So Abb^ Gudin says that he will have to
wait for two months as a ghost before coming back really and
truly. We all of us saw him pass before us — pale, and cold,
and unsubstantial, and smelling of the graveyard."

240 THE CHOUANS.

" And his reverence says, that if the ghost can get hold
of anyone, he will carry him off as his mate," added the
fourth Chouan. This last speaker's grotesque figure dis-
tracted Marche-a-Terre from the religious musings into
which he had been plunged by a miracle, which, according
to Abbe Gudin, fervent faith might repeat for the benefit of
every pious defender of Church and King.

" You see, Galope-Chopine," said he to the neophyte,
with some gravity, " what are the consequences of the
slightest shortcoming in the duties ordered by our holy
religion. Saint Anne of Auray bids us have no mercy for
the smallest faults among ourselves. Your cousin Pille-
Miche has begged for you the place of overseer of Fougeres :
the Gars consents to intrust you with it, and you will
be well paid. But you know what meal we bake traitor's
cake of ? "

" Yes, Master Marche-a-Terre."

" And you know why I say this to you ? There are
people who say that you are too fond of cider and of big
penny-pieces. But you must not try to make pickings : you
must stick to tis, and us only."

" Saving your reverence. Master Marche-a-Terre, cider
and penny-pieces are two good things, which do not hinder
a man from saving his soul."

" If my cousin makes any mistake," said Pille-Miche, " it
will only be through ignorance."

" No matter how a misfortune comes," cried Marche-a-
Terre, in a voice which made the vault quiver, " I shall
not miss hint. You will be surety for him," he added, turn-
ing to Pille-Miche; "for if he does wrong I shall ask an
account of it at the lining of your goatskins."

" But, ask your pardon. Master Marche-a-Terre," replied
Galope-Chopine, " has it not happened to you more than
once to believe that Anti-Ch?^z«.f are Q\imns ? "

A i>AY WITHOUT A MORROW.

241

"My friend," said Marche-a-Terre drily, "don't make
that mistake again, or I will sliver you like a turnip. As for
the messengers of the Gars, they will have his glove : but
since that business at the Vivetiere the Grande Garce puts
a green ribbon in it."

Pille-Miche jogged his comrade's elbow sharply, pointing
to d'Orgemont, who pretended to be asleep : but both
Marche-a-Terre and Pille-Miche himself knew by experience
that nobody had yet gone to sleep at their fireside. And
though the last words to Galope-Chopine had been spoken
in a low tone, since the victim might have understood
them, the four Chouans all stared at him for a moment, and
no doubt thought that fear had deprived him of the use of
his senses. Suddenly, at a slight sign from Marche-a-Terre,
Pille-Miche took off d'Orgemont's shoes and stockings,
Mene-a-Bien and Galope-Chopine seized him round the
body and carried him to the fire. Then Marche-a-Terre
himself took one of the cords that had bound the faggot and
tied the miser's feet to the pot-hook. These combined pro-
ceedings, and their incredible swiftness, made the victim
utter cries which became heartrending when Pille-Miche
brought the coals together under his legs.

" My friends ! My good friends ! " cried d'Orgemont ;
" you will hurt me ! I am a Christian like yourselves ! "

" You He in your throat," answered Marche-a-Terre.
" Your brother denied God. As for you, you bought
Juvigny Abbey. Abbe Gudin says that we need feel no
scruple as to roasting renegades."

" But, brethren in God, I do not refuse to pay you."

" We gave you a fortnight. Two months have pa.ssed,
and here is Galope-Chopine, who has not received a
farthing."

" You received nothing, Galope-Chopine ? " asked the
miser despairingly.

I 1

242

THE C HO VANS.

" Nothing, Monsieur d'Orgemont," answered Galope-
Chopine, alarmed.

The yells, which had changed into a continuous growl,
like a man's death-rattle, began again with unheard-of
violence, but the four Chouans, as much used to this spec-

^z^/^^to-ez

-HmmII,

tacle as they were to seeing their dogs walk without shoes,
gazed so coolly at d'Orgemont as he writhed and howled,
that they looked like travellers waiting by an inn fire till the
roast was done enough to eat.

" I am dying ! I am dying ! " said the victim, " and you
will not get my money ! "

Despite the energy of the yells, Pille-Miche noticed that
the fire had not yet caught the skin : and they poked the
coals very artistically, so as to make them blaze up a little,
whereat d'Orgemont said in a broken voice :

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 243

" My friends! Unbind me. . . . What do you want ? A
hundred crowns ? A thousand ? Ten thousand ? A
hundred thousand ? I offer two hundred crowns ! "

The voice was so pitiful that Mile, de Verneuil forgot her
own danger and allowed an exclamation to escape her.

" Who spoke ? " asked Marche-a-Terre.

The Chouans cast startled glances round them : for,
brave as they were before the deadly mouths of guns, they
could not stand a ghost. Pille-Miche alone listened with
undistracted attention to the confession which increasing
pain wrung from his victim.

" Five hundred crowns ? . . . Yes ! I will give them ! "
said the miser.

" Bah ! Where are they ?" observed Pille-Miche calmly.

" What .'' They are under the first apple-tree. . . . Holy
Virgin ! At the end of the garden — on the left. . . . You
are brigands ! robbers ! Ah ! I am dying. . . There are
ten thousand francs there ! "

" I won't have francs," said Marche-a-Terre. " They
must be livres. The Republic's crowns have heathen figures
on them which will never pass."

"They are in livres, in good louis d'or. Untie me!
Untie me! You know where my life is, that is to say, my
treasure."

The four Chouans looked at each other, considering
which of them could be trusted to go and unearth the money.
But by this time their cannibal barbarity had so horrified Mile,
de Verneuil, that, without knowing whether or no the part
which her pale face marked out for her would suffice to pre-
serve her from danger, she boldly cried in a deep-toned voice :
" Do you not fear the wrath of God ? Untie him, savages ! "

The Chouans raised their heads, saw in the air eyes
which flashed like two stars, and fled in terror. Mile, de
Verneuil jumped down into the kitchen, flew to d'Orgemont,

244 THE CHOUANS.

pulled him so sharply from the fire that the faggot cords
gave way, and then, drawing her dagger, cut the bonds with
which he was bound. When the miser stood up a free man
the first expression on his face was a laugh — one of pain,
but still sardonic. " Go to the apple-tree ! Go, brigands ! "
he said. " Aha ! I have outwitted them twice. They shall
not catch me a third time ! "

At the same moment a woman's voice sounded without.
" A ghost ? " cried Madame du Gua. " Fools ! 'Tis she !
A thousand crowns to him who brings me the harlot's
head ! "

Mile, de Verneuil turned pale, but the miser smiled, took
her hand, drew her under the chimney-mantel, and prevented
her from leaving any trace of her passage by leading her so
as not to disturb the fire, which filled but a small space. He
touched a spring, the iron fire-back rose, and when their
common foes re-entered the cellar, the heavy door of the
hiding-place had already noiselessly closed. Then the
Parisian girl understood the carp-like wrigglings which she
had seen the luckless banker make.

" There, madame !" cried Marche-a-Terre. " The ghost
has taken the Blue for his mate ! "

The alarm must have been great, for so deep a silence
followed these words that d'Orgemont and his fair companion
heard the Chouans whispering " Ave Sancta Anna Auriaca
gratia plena, Dominus tecum," eic.

" The fools are praying ! " cried d'Orgemont.

" Are you not afraid," said Mile, de Verneuil, interrupting
her companion, " of discovering our ? "

A laugh from the old miser dissipated her fears. " The
plate is bedded in a slab of granite ten inches thick. We can
hear them and they cannot hear us."

Then taking his liberatress's hand gently, he led her
towards a crack whence came puffs of fresh air : and she

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

245

understood that the opening had been worked in the
chimney.

" Ah ! " went on d'Orgemont, " the devil ! My legs smart
a little. That ' Filly of Charette,' as they call her at Nantes,
is not fool enough to contradict her faithful followers ;
she knows well
enough that if
they were less
brutishly igno-
rant, they would
not fight against
their own in-
terests. There
she is, praying
too ! it must be
orood to see her
saying her Ave
to Saint Anne of
Auray ! She had
much better rob
a coach so as to
pay me back the
four thousand
francs she owes
me. With costs
and interest it

comes to a good four thousand seven hundred and eighty,
besides centimes."

Their prayer finished, the Chouans rose and went out.
But old d'Orgemont clutched Mile, de Verneuil's hand, to
warn her that there was still danger.

"No, madame!" cried Pille-Miche, after some minutes'
silence, " you may stay there ten years. They will not come
back!"

246 THE CHOUANS.

" But she has not gone out, she must be here," said
Charette's Filly, obstinately.

" No, madame, no ! they have flown through the walls.
Did not the devil carry off a priest who had taken the oath
in that very place before us ? "

" What, Pille-Miche ! do not you, who are as much of a
miser as he is, see that the old skinflint might very well have
spent some thousands of livres on making a recess with a
secret entrance in the foundations of these vaults .■* "

The miser and the young girl heard Pille-Miche give a
great laugh.

" Right ! very right !" said he.

" Stay here ! " said Madame du Gua, " wait for them when
they go out. For one gunshot I will give you all you can
find in our usurer's treasury. If you wish me to forgive you
for having sold the girl when I told you to kill her, obey
me!"

" Usurer!" said old d'Orgemont, "and yet I charged her
no more than nine per cent. 'Tis true that I had a mortgage
as security. But there ! you see how grateful she is. Come,
madame, if God punishes us for doing ill, the devil is there
to punish us for doing good, and man, placed between the
two without knowledge of futurity, has always given me
the idea of a problem of proportion in which x is an undis-
coverable quantity."

He heaved a hollow sigh which was a characteristic of his,
the air which passed through his larynx seeming to encounter
and strike on two old and slack fiddle-strings. But the noise
which Pille-Miche and Madame du Gua made as they once
more sounded the walls, the vaulted ceiling, and the pave-
ment, seemed to reassure d'Orgemont, who seized his
deliverer's hand to help her in climbing a narrow corkscrew
staircase worked in the thickness of a granite wall. When
they had climbed some score of steps the feeble glimmer of

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

247

a lamp shone above their heads. The miser stopped, turned
towards his companion, gazed at her face as he would have
scrutinized, handled, and re-handled a bill which was risky
to discount, and uttered once more his boding sigh.

" By placing you here," he said, " I have paid you back in

■■■^!T-!^'''f^'li^:sHi'!ill''^''i''^'^

-A-L...,ll.

full the service you did me. Therefore I do not see why 1
should give you "

" Sir ! leave me here. I ask nothing of you," she said.

Her last words, and perhaps the disdain which her
beautiful face expressed, reassured the litde old man, for he
answered, sighing again :

" Ah ! I have done too much already by bringing you
here not to go on with it."

He helped Marie politely to climb some steps of rather
puzzling arrangement, and ushered her, half with a good
grace, half reluctantly, into a tiny closet, four feet square.

248 1 HE CHOUANS.

lighted by a lamp which hung from the vaulting. It was
easy to see that the miser had made all his arrangements for
spending more than one day in this retreat if the events of
the civil war forced him to do so.

" Do not go close to the wall, the white will come off,"
said d'Orgemont suddenly, and with considerable haste he
thrust his hand between the young girl's shawl and the
wall, which seemed to have just been re-whitened. But the
old miser's gesture produced an effect quite contrary to that
which he intended. Mile, de Verneuil instantly looked
straight before her, and saw in a corner a sort of erection,
the shape of which drew from her a cry of terror, for she
could divine that a human form had been plastered over and
stood up there. D'Orgemont imposed silence on her with a
terrifying look, but his little china-blue eyes showed as much
alarm as his companion's.

" Silly girl ! do you think I murdered him ? 'Tis my
brother," said he, with a melancholy variation on his usual
sigh, " the first rector who took the oath. This was the only
refuge where he was safe from the rage of the Chouans and
of the other priests. That they should persecute a worthy man,
so well-conducted ! He was my elder brother, and none but
he had the patience to teach me decimal notation. Ah ! he
was a good priest and a saving ; he knew how to lay up !
'Tis four years since he died, of what disease I know not ;
but look you, these priests have a habit of kneeling from
time to time to pray, and perhaps he could not accustom
himself to standing here as I do. I bestowed him there :
anywhere else they would have unearthed him. Some day I
may be able to bury him in holy ground, as the poor man
(who only took the oaths for fear) used to say."

A tear dropped from the little old man's dry eyes, and
his red wig looked less ugly thenceforward to the young
girl. She averted her eyes out of secret reverence for his

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 249.

sorrow, but in spite of his emotion d'Orgemont repeated,
" Don't go near the wall, you will "

Nor did his eyes take themselves off those of Mile,
de Verneuil, as though he hoped thus to prevent her bestow-
ing more particular attention on the side walls of the closet,
where the air, half exhausted, gave scanty play to the lungs.
Yet Marie succeeded in stealing a glance from the surveil-
lance of her Argus : and from the odd bumps on the walls
she came to the conclusion that the miser had built them up
himself with bags of silver and gold. For a moment's space
d'Orgemont had plunged into a fantastic kind of ecstasy.
The pain which his scorched legs gave him, and his alarm
at perceiving a human being in the midst of his treasures,
were legible in every wrinkle : but at the same time his
dried-up eyes expressed by their unaccustomed lustre the
liberal passion which was caused in him by the dangerous
vicinity of his deliveress, whose pink and white cheeks were
a magnet to kisses, and whose velvety black eyes made the
blood flow so hotly through his heart, that he knew not
whether it presaged life or death.

" Are you married ? " he asked her in a quivering voice.

" No ! " she answered, with a smile.

" I am worth something," he said, heaving his sigh, "though
1 am not so rich as they aU say. A girl like you ought to
like diamonds, jewels, equipages, and gold ! " he added, with
a scared look round him ; " I have all that to give after my
death — and if you liked ? "

The old man's eye showed so much calculation even in
this fleeting moment of passion, that as she shook her head
negatively Mile, de Verneuil could not help thinking that
the miser's desire for her hand came chiefly from the wish
to bury his secret in the heart of a second self.

" Money ! " she said, throwing at d'Orgemont a sarcastic
glance which at once vexed and pleased him, " money is

K K

250 THE CHOUANS.

nothing to me. You would be thrice as rich as you are if
all the money I have refused were there."

" Don't touch the w ! "

" And yet nothing was asked of me in return but a kind
glance," she added, with pride unbelievable.

'• You were wrong. It was a very good bargain. Why
think "

" Think j^'^«," interrupted Mile, de Verneuil, " that I have
just heard yonder the sound of a voice one accent of which
is more precious to me than all your riches ! "

" You do not know them "

But before the miser could hinder her, Marie displaced
with a finger touch a small coloured print of Louis XV. on
horseback, and suddenly saw beneath her the marquis, who
was busily loading a blunderbuss. The opening, hidden by
the little panel on which the print was pasted, no doubt
corresponded to some decoration on the ceiling of the
neighbouring chamber, which appeared to be the Royalist
general's bedroom. D'Orgemont, with extreme precaution,
pushed the old print back and looked sternly at the damsel.

" Speak not a word, if you love your life ! You have cast
your grappling," whispered he after a pause, " on a pretty
vessel enough. Do you know that the Marquis of Montau-
ran has a hundred thousand livres a year in leaseholds which
have not yet been sold ? Now a consular decree which I
have read in the Ille-et-Vilaine Sunday Times ^ has just put
a stop to sequestrations. Aha ! You think the Gars there
a prettier man, do you not ? Your eyes flash like a pair
of new louis d'or."

Mile, de Verneuil's glances had gained animation as she
heard the well-known voice sound once more. Since she

' In original " Primidi de I'llle-et-Vilaine," Primidi being the first day
in each decade of that Republican Calendar which was one of the oddest
recorded childishnesses of democracy! — Translator's Note.

A £>AV WITFIOUT A MORROW.

251

had been in her present situation, standing as it were plunged
in a gold and silver mine, the elasticity of her spirit, which
had given way under the pressure of events, had renewed its
vigour. She seemed to have taken a sinister resolve and to
see her way to put it in execution.

" There is no recovery from such scorn as this," she was
saying to herself, "and if it is written
that he shall no more love me, I will kill
him ! no other woman shall have him ! "

" No, AbW ! no," cried the young chief,
whose voice now reached them, " it must
be so."

"My lord marquis," objected Abbe
Gudin, in a haughty tone, "you will
scandalize all Brittany if you give this
ball at Saint James. Preachers and not
dancers are wanted to put our villages
in motion. You must get fusees, not
fiddles."

" Abbe, you are clever enough to know
that without a general assembly of our
party, I cannot find out what I can
undertake with them. No kind of espionage (which, by the
way, I hate) seems to me more convenient for the e.xamina-
tion of their countenances, and the discovery of their minds,
than a dinner. We will make them talk, glass in hand."

Marie started as she heard the words, for she conceived
the idea of going to this ball and avenging herself there.

" Do you think I am a fool that you preach to me against
dancing ?" went on Montauran. " Would you not yourself
figure in a chaconne with all the goodwill in the world
to get re-established under your new name of Peres de la
Foi ? Can you be ignorant that Bretons go straight from
the mass to the dance •* Can you be ignorant again that

-tL....II

7 c-nl-^i-

252 THE CHOUANS.

Hyde de Neuville and d'Andigne had an interview five days
ago with the First Consul on the question of restoring His
Majesty Louis XVHI. ? If I am getting ready now to try
so rash a coup de main, my sole reason is that I may throw
the weight of our hob-nailed shoes in the scale of this nego-
tiation. Can you be ignorant that all the Vendean chiefs,
even Fontaine, talk of surrender ? Ah ! sir, it is clear that
the princes have been deceived as to the state of France.
The devotion of which people talk to them is official devotion.
Only, Abb^, if I have dipped my foot in blood, I will not
plunge in it up to my waist without knowing what I am about.
I have devoted myself to the King's service, and not to that
of a parcel of hotheads, of men head over ears in debt like
Rifoel, of chmiffeurs,^ of "

"Say at once, sir," interrupted the Abbd Gudin, "of
abb^s who take tithes on the highway to maintain the war ! "

" Why should I not say it ? " answered the marquis
sharply ; " I will say more. The heroic age of La Vendee
is past ! "

" My lord marquis, we shall be able to do miracles with-
out you."

" Yes, miracles like Marie Lambrequin's," said the
marquis, laughing. " Come, Abb6, do not let us quarrel. I
know that you are not careful of your own skin, and can
pick off a Blue as well as say an orctnus. With God's help
I hope to make you take a part, mitre on head, at the
King's coronation."

These last words must have had a magical effect on the
Abbe, for the ring of a rifle was heard, and he cried, "My
lord marquis ! I have fifty cartridges in my pocket, and my
life is the King's ! "

' The plan of roasting the feet of those who were supposed to conceal
treasure was common enough : but English has no single word for it like
chauffeurs. — Translators Note

A D'AY WITHOUT A MORROW. 253

" There is another of my debtors," said the miser to Mile.
de Verneuil ; " I am not speaking of a wretched five or
six hundred crowns that he owes me, but of a debt of blood
which I hope will be paid some day. The accursed Jesuit
can never have such bad luck as I wish him. He had
sworn my brother's death, and he roused the whole country
against him. And why ? Because the poor fellow feared
the new laws ! "

Then, after putting his ear to a certain spot in the hiding-
place, " The brigands are making off — the whole pack of
them," said he ; " they are going to do some other miracle.
Let us hope that they will not try to bid me good-bye as
they did last time, by setting fire to the house."

Some half hour later (during which time Mile, de
Verneuil and d'Orgemont gazed at each other as each might
have gazed at a picture) the rough, coarse voice of Galope-
Chopine cried in a low tone, " There is no more danger,
M. d'Orgemont! but this time I earned my thirty crowns
well ! "

" My child," said the mi.ser, " swear that you will shut your
eyes."

Mile, de Verneuil covered her eyelids with one of her
hands : but to make surer still the old man blew out the
lamp, took his deliveress by the hand, and helped her to
take five or six steps in an awkward passage. At the end
of a minute or two he gently removed her hand from her
eyes, and she found herself in the room which Montauran
had just quitted, and which was the miser's own.

" My dear child," said the old man, " you can go (do not
stare round you like that). You are no doubt without
money — here are ten crowns for you : there are clipped ones
among them, but they will pass. When you come out of
the garden you will find a path leading to the town, or as
they say now, to the district. But the Chouans are at

854 THE CHOUANS.

Fougeres, and it is unlikely that you will be able to enter
there directly : so you may have need of a safe resting-
place. Mark well what I am going to say to you, and only
make use of it in the extremity of danger. You will see on
the road which leads by the Gibarry valley to the Nid-aux-
Crocs, a farm where Long Cibot, called Galope-Chopine,
dwells. Go in, say to his wife, ' Good-day, Becaniere ! ' and
Barbette will hide you. If Galope-Chopine finds you out,
he will take you for the ghost if it is night, or ten crowns
will tame him if it is day. Good-bye ! we are quits. But
if you chose," said he, pointing with a sweep of the hand
to the fields surrounding his house, " all that should be
yours !"

Mile, de Verneuil cast a grateful glance on this odd being,
and succeeded in drawing from him a sigh of unusually
varied tone.

" Of course, you will pay me my ten crowns ? (please
observe that I say nothing about interest). You can pay
them in to my credit with Master Patrat, the Fougeres
notary — who, if you chose, would draw up our marriage
contract, my lovely treasure ! Farewell ! "

" Farewell ! " said she, with a smile and a wave of her
hand.

"If you want money," he cried after her, " I will lend it
you at five per cent. ! yes, at five merely ! did I say five .'' "
but she had gone. " She seems a nice girl," added
d'Orgemont ; " still, I will change the trick of my chimney."
Then he took a twelve-pound loaf and a ham and went back
to his hiding-place.

When Mile, de Verneuil stepped out in the open country
she felt as though new born : and the cool morning refreshed
her face, which for some hours past seemed to her to have
been stricken by a burning atmosphere. She tried to find the
path which the miser had indicated, but since moonset the

A nAV WITHOUT A MORROW. 255

darkness had become so intense that she was obliged to go at
a venture. Soon the fear of falling among the gliffs struck a
chill to her heart and saved her life : for she made a sudden
stop with the presentiment that another step would find the
earth yawning beneath her. The cooler breeze which kissed
her hair, the ripple of the waters, as well as her own instinct,
gave her a hint that she had come to the end of the rocks
of Saint Sulpice. She threw her arms round a tree, and
waited for the dawn in a state of lively anxiety, for she
heard a noise of weapons, of horses, and of human tongues.
She felt thankful to the night which protected her from the
danger of falling into the hands of the Chouans if they really,
as the miser had said, were surrounding Fougeres.

Like bonfires suddenly kindled by night, as a signal of
liberty, some gleams of faint purple ran along the mountain-
tops, the lower slopes retaining a bluish tinge in contrast
with the dewy clouds floating over the valleys. Soon a
crimson disc rose slowly on the horizon ; the skies gave
answering light ; the ups and downs of the landscape, the
steeple of Saint Leonard's, the rocks, the meadows, which
had been buried in shadow, re-appeared little by little, and
the trees on the hilltops showed their outlines in the nascent
blaze. Rising with a graceful bound, the sun shook himself
free from his ribbonsof flame-colour.of ochre.and of sapphire.
His lively light sketched harmonies of level lines from hill
to hill, and flowed from vale to vale. The gloom fled, and
day overwhelmed all nature. A sharp breeze shivered
through the air ; the birds sang ; on all sides life awoke.
But the girl had hardly had time to lower her gaze to the
main body of this striking landscape when, by a phenomenon
common enough in these well-watered countries, sheets of
mist spread themselves, filling the valleys, climbing the tallest
hills, and burying the fertile basin in a cloak, as of snow.
And soon Mile, de Verneuil could fancy that she saw before

256 THE CHOUANS.

her one of those seas of ice wherewith the Alps are furnished.
Then the cloudy air became billowy as the ocean, and sent
up dense waves which, softly swinging to and fro, undulating
and even whirling rapidly, dyed themselves with bright rosy
hues from the rays of the sun, with here and there clear
patches like lakes of liquid silver. Suddenly the north wind,
breathing on the phantasmagoria, blew the fog away, leaving
a heavy dew' on the turf. Then Mile, de Verneuil could
see a huge brown mass installed on the rocks of Fougeres.
Seven or eight hundred armed Chouans were swarming in
the Faubourg Saint Sulpice like ants in an ant-heap, and
the precincts of the castle, where were posted three
thousand men, who had come up as if by enchantment, were
furiously attacked. The town, despite its grassy ramparts
and its ancient grizzled towers, might have succumbed in
its sleep, if Hulot had not been on the watch. A battery,
concealed on a height lying in the hollow of the ramparts,
replied to the first fire of the Chouans by taking them in
flank on the road leading to the castle, which was raked and
swept clean by grape shot. Then a company made a sortie
from the Porte Saint Sulpice, took advantage of the Chouans'
surprise, formed on the roadway, and began a murderous
fire on them. The Chouans did not even attempt resistance
when they saw the ramparts of the castle covered with sol-
diers, as if the scene-painter's art had suddenly drawn long
blue lines round them, while the fire of the fortress pro-
tected that of the Republican sharp-shooters. However,
another party of Chouans, having made themselves masters
of the little valley of the Nan9on, had climbed the rocky
paths and reached the Promenade, to which they mounted,
the goatskins which covered it giving it the appearance of

' Balzac wrote " rosee pleinc cToxyde." I do not know what he meant
by this : for though dew certainly rusts, it cannot rust tnri.— Translator's
Note.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 257

thatch browned by time. At the same moment heavy firing
was heard in that part of the town which looks toward the
valley of the Couesnon. It was clear that Fougeres was
completely surrounded and attacked on all sides. A con-
flagration, which showed itself on the east face of the rock,
gave evidence that the Chouans were burning the suburbs :
but the showers of sparks which came from the shingled or
broom-thatched roofs soon ceased, and columns of black
smoke showed that the fire was going out. Once more
grey and white clouds hid the scene from Mile, de Verneuil,
but the wind soon blew away this powder-fog. The Re-
publican commander had already changed the direction of
his battery, so as successively to rake the Nancjon valley, the
Queen's Staircase, and the rocks, as soon as he had seen
from the top of the Promenade the complete success of his
earlier orders. Two guns placed by the guard-house of the
Porte Saint Leonard mowed down the swarms of Chouans
which had carried that position, while the Fougeres National
Guard, which had hastily mustered in the Church Square, put
the finishing touch to the rout of the enemy. The fight did
not last half an hour, and did not cost the Blues a hundred
men. The Chouans, beaten crushingly, were already retiring
in every direction under the orders of the Gars, whose bold
stroke failed, though he knew it not, as a direct consequence
of the affair at the Vivetiere, which had brought Hulot so
secretly back to Fougeres. The guns had only come up
that very night : for the mere news that ammunition was
on its way would have been enough to make Montauran
abandon an enterprise which was certain of defeat as
soon as blown upon. Indeed, Hulot was as ardently desirous
of giving the Gars a smart lesson, as the Gars could be of
succeeding in his dash so as to influence the decisions of the
First Consul. At the first cannon-shot the marquis saw
that it would be madness to go on, out of vanity, with a

L L

258 THE CHOUANS.

surprise which was already a failure. So, to avoid useless
loss of his Chouans, he promptly sent half-a-dozen mes-
sengers with instructions to effect a retreat at once on all
sides. The commandant, catching sight of his foe sur-
rounded by numerous advisers, Madame du Gua among
the number, tried to send them a volley on the rocks
of Saint Sulpice. But the position had been too skilfully
chosen for the young chief not to be out of danger. So
Hulot suddenly changed his tactics, and became the attacker
instead of the attacked. At the first movement which dis-
closed the marquis's intentions, the company posted under
the castle walls set to work to cut off the retreat, by seizing
the upper passes into the Nanqon valley.

Despite her hatred Mile, de Verneuil could not help
takingf the side of the men whom her lover commanded :
and she turned quickly towards the other end to see if it
was free. But there she saw the Blues, who had no doubt
gained the day on the other side of the town, returning from
the Couesnon valley by the Gibarry Glen, so as to seize the
Nid-aux-Crocs and the part of the rocks of Saint Sulpice
where lay the lower exit of the Nan^on valley. Thus the
Chouans, shut up in the narrow meadow at the bottom of
the gorge, seemed as if they must perish to the last man, so
exact had been the foresight of the old Republican leader, and
so skilfully had his measures been taken. But at these two
spots the cannon which had served Hulot so well lost their
efficacy, a desperate hand-to-hand struggle took place, and,
Foueeres once saved, the affair assumed the character of an
engagement to which the Chouans were well used. Mile.
de Verneuil at once understood the presence of the masses
of men she had seen about the country, the meeting of the
chiefs at d'Orgemont's house, and all the events of the night :
though she could not conceive how she had managed to
escape so many dangers. The enterprise, prompted by

A nl4V WITHOUT A MORROW.

259

despair, interested her in so lively a manner that she remained
motionless, gazing at the animated pictures before her eyes.
Soon the fight below the Saint Sulpice crags acquired a new
interest for her. Seeing that the Blues had nearly mastered
the Chouans, the marquis and his friends flew to their aid in
the Nancon valley. The foot of the rocks was covered by a
multitude of furious knots of men, where the game of life
and death was played on ground and with arms much more

favourable to the Goatskins. Little by little the moving
arena spread itself farther out, and the Chouans, scattering,
gained the rocks by the help of the bushes which grew here
and there. Mile, de Verneuil was startled to see, almost
too late, her enemies once more upon the heights, where
they fought furiously to hold the dangerous paths which
scaled them. As all the outlets of the high ground were
held by one party or the other, she was afraid of finding
herself surrounded, left the great tree behind which she had
kept herself, and took to flight, hoping to profit by the old
miser's directions. When she had hurried a long way on
the slope of the heights of Saint Sulpice towards the great

26o THE C HO VANS.

Couesnon valley, she perceived a cowshed some way off, and
guessed that it belonged to the house of Galope-Chopine,
who was likely to have left his wife alone during the fight.
Encouraged by this guess Mile, de Verneuil hoped to be
well received in the house, and to be able to pass some hours
there, till it might be possible for her to return without risk
to Fougeres. To judge from appearances Hulot was going
to win. The Chouans fled so rapidly that she heard gun-
shots all round her, and the fear of being hit by some bullet
made her quickly gain the cottage whose chimney served
her as a landmark. The path she had followed ended at a
kind of shed, the roof of which, thatched with broom, was
supported by four large tree-trunks with the bark still on.
A cobbed ' wall formed the end of the shed, in which were
a cider press, a threshing-floor for buckwheat, and some
ploughing gear. She stopped and leaned against one of the
posts, without making up her mind to cross the muddy
swamp serving as courtyard to the house, which, like a true
Parisian, she had taken for a cow-stall.

The cabin, protected from the north wind by an eminence
which rose above the roof and against which it rested, was
not without touches of poetry, for ash-suckers, briars, and
the flowers of the rocks wreathed their garlands round it.
A rustic stair wrought between the shed and the house
allowed the inhabitants to go and breathe a purer air on the
rock-top. At the left of the cottage the hill sloped sharply
down, and laid open to view a series of fields, the nearest of
which, no doubt, belonged to the farm. These fields gave
the effect of a pleasant woodland, divided by banks of earth
which were planted with trees, and the nearest of which
helped to surround the courtyard. The lane which led to
the fields was closed by a huge tree-trunk, half-rotten, a

' Torchis, or "cob," as it is called on the opposite coast of Devonshire,
is clay mixed with straw, — Translator's Note.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

261

kind of Breton gateway, the name of which may serve later
as text for a final digression on local colour. -Between the
stair wrought in the schist and the lane, with the swamp in

r--

'Hcviillc

7.^^ /C?/'"'

front and the hanging rock behind, some granite blocks,
roughly hewn, and piled the one on the other, formed the
four corner-stones of the house and held up the coarse
bricks, the beams, and the pebbles of which the walls were

262 THE C HO VANS.

built. Half the roof was thatched with broom instead of
straw, and the other half was shingled with slate-shaped
pieces of wood, giving promise of an interior divided in two
parts. And in fact one, with a clumsy hurdle as a door,
served as stall : while the owners of the house inhabited the
other. Though the cabin owed to the neighbourhood of the
town some conveniences which were completely wanting a
league or two further off, it showed well enough the unstable
kind of life to which war and feudal customs had so sternly
subjected the manners of the serfs, so that to this day many
peasants in these parts give the term " abode " only to the
chateau which their landlord inhabits. After examining- the
place with astonishment which may easily be imagined. Mile,
de Verneuil noticed here and there in the courtyard mud
some pieces of granite so arranged as to serve as stepping-
stones towards the house — a mode of access not devoid of
danger. But as she heard the roll of the musketry drawing
audibly nearer, she skipped from stone to stone, as if crossing
aJDrook, to beg for shelter. The house was shut in by one
of those doors which are in two separate pieces, the lower
of solid and massive wood, while the upper is filled by a
shutter serving as window. Many shops in the smaller
French towns exhibit this kind of door, but much more
ornamented, and provided in the lower part with an alarm-
bell. The present specimen opened with a wooden latch
worthy of the Golden Age, and the upper part was never
shut except at night, for this was the only opening by which
the light of day could enter the room. There was, indeed,
a roughly-made casement : but its glass seemed to be com-
posed of bottle ends, and the leaden latticing which held
them occupied so much of the space that it seemed rather
intended to keep light out than to let it in. When Mile, de
Verneuil made the door swing on its creaking hinges, whiffs-
of an appalling ammoniacal odour issued to meet her from

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 263

the cottage, and she saw that the cattle had kicked through
the interior partition. Thus the inside of the farm — for
farm it was — did not match ill with the outside. Mile, de
Verneuil was asking herself whether it was possible that
human beings could live in this deliberate state of filth, when
a small ragged boy, apparently about eight or nine years old,
suddenly showed his fresh white and red face, plump cheeks,
bright eyes, teeth like ivory, and fair hair falling in tresses
on his half-naked shoulders. His limbs were full of vigour,
and his air had that agreeable wonder and savage innocence
which makes children's eyes look larger than nature. The
boy was perfectly beautiful.

" Where is your mother ? " said Marie, in a gentle voice,
and stooping to kiss his eyes.

When he had had his kiss, the child slipped away from
her like an eel, and disappeared behind a dunghill which lay
between the path and the house on the rise of the hill.
Indeed Galope-Chopine, like many Breton farmers, was
accustomed, by a system of cultivation which is characteristic
of them, to put his manure in elevated situations, so that
when it comes to be used the rain has deprived it of all its
virtues. Left to her own devices in the dwellincf for a
moment or two, Marie was not long in taking stock of its
contents. The room in which she waited for Barbette was
the only one in the house ; the most prominent and stately
object in it was a huge chimney-piece, the mantel of which
was formed of a slab of blue granite. The etymology of the
word ' justified itself by a rag of green serge edged with a
pale green ribbon, and cut out in rounds, hanging down the
slab, in the midst of which stood a Virgin in coloured
plaster. On the pedestal of the statue Mile, de Verneuil
read two verses of a sacred poem very popular in the
country : —

' Manteau, "cXosk."— Translator's Note.

264 THE C HO VANS.

" I am God's mother, fidl 0/ grace,'
And the protectress of this place."

Behind the Virgin, a hideous picture, blotched with red and
blue by way of colouring, presented Saint Labre. A bed,
also of green serge, of the shape called tomb-shaped, a rough
cradle, a wheel, some clumsy chairs, and a carved dresser
furnished with some utensils, completed, with a few excep-
tions, the movable property of Galope-Chopine. In front of
the casement there was a long chestnut-wood table with two
benches in the same wood, to which such light as came
through the glass gave the tint of old mahogany. An
enormous cider cask, under whose spile Mile, de Verneuil
noticed some yellowish mud the moisture of which was
slowly rotting the floor, though it was composed of frag-
ments of granite set in red clay, showed that the master of the
house well deserved his Chouan nickname (Galope-Chopine,
" tosspot"). Mile, de Verneuil lifted her eyes as if to relieve
them of this spectacle, and then it seemed to her that she
saw all the bats in the world — so thick were the spiders'
webs which hung from the ceiling. Two huge pickets full
of cider stood on the long table. These vessels are a kind
of jug of brown earth, the curious pattern of which is found
in more than one district of France, and which a Parisian
can imagine by fancying the jars in which epicures serve
up Brittany butter, with the belly somewhat swollen,
varnished here and there in patches and shaded over with
dark yellow like certain shells. The jugs end in a sort of
mouth not unlike that of a frog taking in air above water.
Marie's attention had fixed on these pitchers, but the noise
of the fighting, which sounded more and more distinct,
urged her to seek a place more suitable for hiding without
waiting for Barbette, when the woman suddenly appeared.

' Words inserted, " r/y-v/w' gratia." — Translator's Note.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORJiOlV. 265

" Good day, Becaniere ! " said she to her, suppressing an
involuntary smile, as she saw a face which was not unlike the
heads that architects place as ornaments over the keystones
of window-arches.

" Aha ! you come from d'Orgemont," answered Barbette,
with no great air of alacrity.

" Where are you going to put me ? for the Chouans are
coming ! "

" There ! " said Barbette, equally astounded at the beauty
and the strange dress of a creature whom she dared not
take for one of her own sex. " There ! in the priest's
hole."

She led her to the head of her own bed and made her go
into the alcove. But they were both startled by hearing
a stranger plashing through the swamp. Barbette had
scarcely time to draw a bed-curtain and wrap Marie up in
it, when she found herself face to face with a fugitive
Chouan.

" Old woman ! where can one hide here .'* I am the
Comte de Bauvan."

Mile, de Verneuil shuddered as she recognized the voice
of the guest whose words — few as they were, and secret as
they had been kept from her — had brought about the
disaster at the Vivetiere.

" Alas ! monseigneur, you see there is nothing of the kind
here. The best I can do is to go out and keep watch. If
the Blues come I will warn you. If I stayed here and they
found me with you, they would burn my house."

And Barbette left the room : for she was not clever enough
to adjust the claims of two mutual enemies who were,
thanks to her husband's double part, equally entitled to the
use of the hiding-place.

" I have two shots still to fire," said the count despair-
ingly, " but they have got in front of me already. Never

M M

266

THE CHOUANS.

mind ! I shall be much out of luck if as they come back
this way they take a fancy to look under the bed ! "

He put his gun gently down by the bed-post where Marie
was standing wrapped in the green serge, and he stooped to
make sure that he could find room under the bed. He must
infallibly have seen the feet of the concealed girl, but in

this supreme moment she caught up his gun, leapt briskly
into the open hut, and threatened the count, who burst out
laughing as he recognized her ; for in order to hide herself
Marie had discarded her great Chouan hat, and her hair fell
in thick tufts from underneath a lace net.

" Don't laugh, count ! you are my prisoner! If you make
a single movement you shall know what an offended woman
is capable of."

While the count and Marie were staring at each other

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 267

with very different feelings, confused voices shouted trom
the rocks, " Save the Gars ! Scatter yourselves ! Save the
Gars ! Scatter yourselves ! "

Barbette's voice rang over the tumult outside, and was
heard in the cottage with very different sensations by the
two foes. F"or she spoke less to her son than to them.

" Don't you see the Blues ? " cried Barbette sharply.
" Are you coming here, wicked little brat ! or shall I come to
you ? Do you want to be shot ? Get away quickly ! "

During these details, which took little time, a Blue jumped
into the swamp. "Beau-Pied!" cried Mile. deVerneuil to him.

Beau- Pied ran in at her voice, and took rather better aim
at the count than his deliveress had done.

"Aristocrat!" said the sly soldier, "don't stir, or I will
demolish you like the Bastile in two jiffies! "

" Monsieur Beau-Pied," continued Mile, de Verneuil in a
coaxing tone, " you will answer to me for this prisoner. Do
what you like with him : but you must get him safe and
sound to Fougeres for me."

" Enough, madame ! "

"Is the road to Fougeres clear now .'' "

" It is safe enough : unless the Chouans come alive atjain."

Mile, de Verneuil armed herself gaily with the light
fowling-piece, smiled sarcastically as she said to her
prisoner, " Good-bye, Monsieur le Comte, we meet again,"
and fled to the path after putting on her great hat once more.

" I see," said the count bitterly, "a little too late, that one
ought never to make jests on the honour of women who
have none left."

"Aristocrat!" cried Beau-Pied harshly, "if you don't
want me to send you to that ci-devant paradise of yours,
say nothing against that fair lady!"

Mile, de Verneuil returned to Fougeres by the paths
which connect the crags of .Saint Sulpice and the Nid-aux-

268 THE CHOUANS.

Crocs. When she reached this latter eminence and was
hastening along the winding path which had been laid in the
rough granite, she admired the beautiful little valley of the
Nan9on, just before so noisy, now perfectly quiet. From
where she was the valley looked like a green lane. She
entered the town by the gate of Saint Leonard, at which the
little path ended. The townsmen — still alarmed by the
fight, which, considering the gunshots heard afar off, seemed
likely to last throughout the day — -were awaiting the return
of the National Guard in order to learn the extent of their
losses. When the men of Fougeres saw the girl in her
strange costume, her hair dishevelled, a gun in her hand,
her shawl and gown whitened by contact with walls, soiled
with mud and drenched with dew, their curiosity was all the
more vividly excited in that the power, the beauty, and the
eccentricity of the fair Parisian already formed their staple
subject of conversation.

Francine, a prey to terrible anxiety, had sat up for her
mistress the whole night, and when she saw her she was
about to speak, but was silenced by a friendly gesture :

"I am not dead, child," said Marie. "Ah! when I left
Paris I pined for exciting adventures — I have had them,"
added she after a pause. But when Francine was about
to go and order breakfast, remarking to her mistress that,
she must be in great need of it. Mile, de Verneuil cried
" Oh no ! A bath ! A bath first ! The toilette before all : "
and Francine was not a little surprised to hear her mistress
ask for the most elegant and fashionable dresses which had
been packed up. When she had finished her breakfast,
Marie set about dressing with all the elaborate care which a
woman is wont to bestow on this all-important business
when she has to show herself in the midst of a ball-room to
the eyes of a beloved object. The maid could not under-
stand her mistress's mocking gaiety. It was not the joy of

A dAv without a morrow. 269

loving (for no woman can mistake that expression), it was
concentrated spite, which boded ill. Marie arranged the
curtains of the window, whence the eye fell on a magnificent
panorama : then she drew the sofa near the fireplace, set it
in a light favourable to her face, bade Francine get flowers
so as to give the room a festal appearance, and when they
were brought, superintended their disposal in the most
effective manner. Then, after throwing a last glance of
satisfaction on her apartment, she told Francine to send to
the commandant and ask for her prisoner. She stretched
herself voluptuously on the couch, half for the sake of rest-
ing, half in order that she might assume an attitude of
frail elegance, which in certain women has an irresistible
fascination. Her air of languid softness, the provoking
arrangement of her feet, the tips of which just peeped from
the skirt of her gown, the abandon of her body, the bend of
her neck, even the angle formed by her taper fingers, which
hung from a cushion like the petals of a tuft of jasmine, made
up, with her glances, a harmony of allurement. She burnt
some perfumes to give the air that soft influence which is so
powerful on the human frame, and which often smooths
the way to conquests which women wish to gain without
apparently inviting them. A few moments later the old
soldier's heavy step echoed in the antechamber :
" Well ! commandant, where is my captive ? "
" I have just ordered out a picket of twelve men to shoot
him as one taken arms in hand."

" What ! you have settled the fate of my prisoner ? " she
said. " Listen, commandant ! I do not think, if I may trust
your face, that the death of a man in cold blood is a thing
particularly delightful to you. Well then, give me back my
Chouan, and grant him a reprieve for which I will be respon-
sible. I assure you that this aristocrat has become in-
dispensable to me, and that he will help in executing our

270

THE CHOUANS.

projects. Besides, to shoot a man like this, who is playing
at Chouannerie, would be as silly a thing as to send a volley
at a balloon which needs only a pin-prick to shrivel it up.
For God's sake, leave cruelty to aristocrats : Republics
should be generous. Would you not, if it had lain with
you, have pardoned the victims of Quiberon and many

-irU.ulU

others ? There, let your twelve men
go and make the rounds, and come and dine with me
and my prisoner. There is only another hour of daylight,
and you see," added she, with a smile, " if you are not quick,
my toilette will miss its effect."

" But, mademoiselle " said the commandant in surprise.

" Well, what ? I know what you mean. Come, the count
shall not escape you. Sooner or later the plump butterfly
will burn his wings in your platoon fire."

The commandant shrugged his shoulders slightly like a
man who is forced to obey, willy nilly, the wishes of a pretty

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 271

woman : and came back in half an hour, followed by the
Comte de Ban van.

Mile, de Verneuil pretended to be caught unawares by
her guests, and showed some confusion at being seen by the
count in so careless an attitude. But as she saw in the
nobleman's eyes that her first attack had succeeded, she rose
and devoted herself to her company with the perfection of
grace and politeness. Nothing forced or studied in her
posture, her smile, her movements, or her voice, betrayed a
deliberate design. Everything was in harmony : and no
exaggeration suggested that she was affecting the manners
of a society in which she had not lived. When the Royalist
and the Republican had taken their seats, she bent a look of
severity on the count. He knew women well enough to be
aware that the insult of which he had been guilty was likely
to be rewarded with sentence of death. But though he
suspected as much, he preserved the air, neither gay nor
sad, of a man who at any rate does not expect any such
tragic ending. Soon it seemed to him absurd to fear death
in the presence of a beautiful woman, and finally Marie's air
of severity began to put notions in his head.

" Who knows," thought he to himself, " if a count's
coronet, still to be had, may not please her better than a
marquis's that is lost? Montauran is a dry stick enough:

while I " and he looked at himself with satisfaction,

" Now the least that I can gain is to save my head ! "

But his diplomatic reflections did not do him much good.
The liking which he had made up his mind to feign for
Mile, de Verneuil became a violent fancy which the
dangerous girl took pleasure in stimulating.

" Count," she said, " you are my prisoner, and I have the
right to dispose of you. Your execution will not take place
without my consent, and, as it happens, I am too full of
curiosity to let you be shot now."

272 THE CHOUANS.

" But suppose I were to be obstinately discreet ?" answered
he, merrily.

" With an honest woman perhaps you might, but with a
' wench !' Come, come, count, that would be impossible."

These words, full of bitter irony, were hissed out (as Sully
says, speaking of the Duchess of Beaufort) from so sharp a
beak that the nobleman in his surprise merely gazed at his
ferocious adversary.

" Come," she went on mockingly, " not to contradict you,
I will be, like these creatures, ' a kind girl.' To begin with,
here is your gun." And she handed him his weapon with a
gesture of gentle sarcasm.

" On the faith of a, gentleman, mademoiselle, you are

actmg-

" Ah ! " she said, breaking in, " I have had enough of the
faith of gentlemen. That was the assurance on which I
entered the Vivetiere. Your chief swore to me that I and
mine should be safe there ! "

" Infamous !" cried Hulot, with frowning brows.

" It was M. le Comte's fault," she said, pointing to him.
" The Gars certainly meant quite sincerely to keep his
word ; but this gentleman threw on me some slander or
other which confirmed all the tales that ' Charette's filly '
had been kind enough to imagine."

" Mademoiselle," said the count, disordered, " if my
head were under the axe, I could swear that I said but the
truth "

"In saying what ?"

" That you had been the "

" Out with the word ! The mistress-

" Of the Marquis (now Duke) of Lenoncourt, who is one
of my friends," said the count.

" Now I might let you go to execution," said Marie, un-
moved in appearance by the deliberate accusation of the

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

273

count, who sat stupefied at the real or feigned indifference
which she showed towards the charge. But she went on,
with a laugh, " Dismiss for ever from your mind the sinister
image of these pellets of lead ! For you have no more offended
me than this friend of yours whose — what is it ? Fie on me —
you would have me to have been. Listen, count, have you
not visited my father, the Duke de Verneuil ? Eh .'' "

7/m. tOla^-<~.

Thinking, no doubt, that the confidence which she was
about to make was of too great importance for Hulot to be
admitted to it, Mile, de Verneuil beckoned the count to her
and said some words in his ear. M. de Bauvan let slip a
half-uttered exclamation of surprise and looked with a
puzzled air at Marie, who suddenly completed the memory
to which she had appealed by leaning against the chimney-
piece in a child's attitude of innocent simplicity. The
count dropped on one knee.

N N

274 THE CHOUANS.

" Mademoiselle ! " he cried, " I implore you to grant me
pardon, however unworthy I may be of it."

" I have nothing to forgive," she said. " You are as far
from the truth now in your repentance as you were in your
insolent supposition at the Vivetiere. But these secrets are
above your understanding. Know only, count," added she,
gravely, " that the Duke de Verneuil's daughter has too
much loftiness of soul not to take a lively interest in you."

" Even after an insult ? " said the count, with a sort of
regret.

" Are not some persons too highly placed to be within the
reach of insult ? Count, I am one of them."

And as she spoke these words the girl assumed an air of
noble pride, which overawed her prisoner and made the
whole comedy much less clear to Hulot. The commandant
put his hand to his moustache as though to twist it up, and
looked with a somewhat disturbed air at Mile, de Verneuil,
who gave him to understand by a sign that she was making
no change in her plan.

" Now," she said, after an interval, " let us talk. Fran-
cine, give us lights, child."

And she brought the conversation very cleverly round to
that time which a few short years had made the ancien
rigime. She carried the count back to this period so well
by the vivacity of her remarks and her sketches, she
supplied him with so many occasions of showing his wit by
the complaisant ingenuity with which she indulged him in
repartees, that he ended by thinking to himself that he had
never been more agreeable, and, his youth restored by
the notion, he tried to communicate to this alluring person
the good opinion which he had of himself. The malicious
girl took delight in trying upon him all the devices of her
coquetry, and was able to play the game all the more
skilfully that for her it was a game and nothing more. And

A D'AY WITHOUT A MORROW. 275

so at one moment she let him beheve that he had made a
quick advance in her favour, at another, as though astonished
at the liveliness of her feelings, she showed a coldness which
charmed the count, and helped sensibly to increase his im-
promptu passion. She behaved exactly like an angler who
from time to time pulls up his line to see if a fish has bitten.
The poor count allowed himself to be caught by the innocent
manner in which his deliveress had accepted a compliment
or two, neatly turned enough. The emigration, the Re-
public, Brittany, the Chouans, were things a thousand miles
away from his thoughts. Hulot sat bolt upright, motionless
and solemn as the god Terminus. His want of breeding
incapacitated him entirely for this style of conversation.
He had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion that the two speakers
must be very droll people, but his intelligence could soar no
higher than the attempt to understand them so far as to be
sure that they were not plotting against the Republic under
cover of ambiguous language.

" Mademoiselle," said the count, " Montauran is well-
born, well-bred, and a pretty fellow enough : but he is abso-
lutely ignorant of gallantry. He is too young to have seen
Versailles. His education has been a failure, and instead
of playing mischievous tricks, he is a man to deal dagger-
blows. He can love fiercely, but he will never acquire the
perfect flower of manners by which Lauzun, Adhemar,
Coigny, and so many others were distinguished. He does
not possess the pleasing talent of saying to women those
pretty nothings which after all suit them better than explo-
sions of passion, whereof they are soon tired. Yes ! though
he be a man who has been fortunate enough with the sex,
he has neither the ease nor the grace of the character."

" I did not fail to perceive it," answered Marie.

" Aha ! " said the count to himself, " that tone and look
meant that we shall soon be on the very best terms together :

2 76 THE CHOUANS.

and, faith ! in order to be hers I will believe anything she
wishes me to believe!"

Dinner being announced, he offered his hand to her.
Mile, de Verneuil did the honours of the meal with a polite-
ness and tact which could only have been acquired by a
court education and in the polished life of the court.

" You had better go," said she to Hulot, as they rose from
table, " you would frighten him ; while if we are alone I shall
soon find out what I want to know. He has come to the
pitch where a man tells me everything he thinks, and .sees
everything through my eyes."

" And afterwards V asked the commandant, as if demand-
ing the extradition of his prisoner.

" Oh ! he must be free," said she, " free as air!"

" Yet he was caught with arms in his hands."

" No," said she, with one of the jesting sophistries which
women love to oppose to peremptory reason, " I had dis-
armed him before. Count," she said to the nobleman, as
she re-entered the room, " I have just begged your freedom,
but nothing for nothing!" she added, with a smile and a
sidelong motion of her head, as if putting questions to
him.

" Ask me for anything, even my name and my honour ! "
he cried, in his intoxication. " I lay all at your feet ! " and
he darted forward to grasp her hand, endeavouring to repre-
sent his desire as gratitude. But Mile, de Verneuil was not a
girl to mistake the two ; and therefore, smiling all the while,
so as to give some hope to this new lover, but stepping back
a pace or two, she said, " Will you give me cause to repent
my trust ?"

" A girl's thoughts run faster than a woman's," he replied,
laughing.

" A girl has more to lose than a woman."

" True : those who carry treasures should be mistrustful."

A DMY WITHOUT A MORROW. 277

" Let us drop this talk," said she, " and speak seriously.
" You are going to give a ball at Saint James.. I have been
told that you have established there your stores, your
arsenals, and the seat of your government. When is the

ball r

" To-morrow night."

" You will not be surprised, sir, that a slandered woman
should wish, with a woman's obstinacy, to obtain a signal
reparation for the insults which she has undergone in the
presence of those who witnessed them. Therefore I will go
to your ball. I ask you to grant me your protection from
the moment I appear there to the moment I leave. I will
not have your word," said she, noticing that he was placing
his hand on his heart. " I hate oaths ; they are too like
precautions. Simply tell me that you will undertake to hold
my person scatheless from all criminal or shameful attempt.
Promise to redress the wrong you have done me by
announcing that I am really the Duke de Verneuil's
daughter, and by holding your tongue about all the ills I
owed to a lack of paternal protection. We shall then be
quits. What ? Can a couple of hours' protection given to
a lady at a ball be too heavy a ransom ? Come! you are
worth no more ! " But she took all the bitterness out of
her words with a smile.

" What do you ask then for my gun's ransom ?" said the
count with a laugh.

" Oh ! more than for yourself."

"What?"

"Secrecy. Believe me, Bauvan, only women can detect
women. I know that if you say a word I may be murdered
on the road. Yesterday certain bullets gave me warning of
the danger I have to run on the highway. That lady is as
clever at the chase as she is deft at the toilette. No wait-
ing-maid ever undressed me so quickly. For heaven's sake,"

278

THE CHOUANS.

she said, " take care that I have nothing of that kind to fear
at the ball."

" You will be under my protection there !" said the count

proudly. " But," he asked with
some sadness, " are you going
to Saint James for Mont-
auran's sake ? "

"You want to know more
than I know myself!" she
said with a laugh, adding,
after a pause, " Now go ! I
will myself escort you out of
the town : for you all wage
war like mere savages here."
" Then you care a
little for me ? " cried
the count. " Ah, made-
moiselle, allow me to
hope that you will not
be insensible to my
friendship, for I suppose
I must be content with
that, must I not.-*" he
added, with an air of
coxcombry.
" Go away, you conjurer!" said she, with
the cheerful expression of a woman who
confesses something that compromises neither
her dignity nor her secrets.
Then she put on a jacket and accompanied the
count to the Nid-aux- Crocs. When she had come to
the end of the path she said to him, " Sir ! observe the
most absolute secrecy, even with the marquis," and she
placed her finger on her lips. The count, emboldened by

A B^y WITHOUT A MORROW. 279

her air of kindness, took her hand (which she let him take
as though it were the greatest favour) and kissed it tenderly :

" Oh ! mademoiselle," cried he, seeing himself out of all
danger, " count on me in life and in death. Though the
gratitude I owe you is almost equal to that which I owe
my mother, it will be very difficult for me to feel towards
you only respect."

He darted up the path, and when she had seen him gain
the crags of Saint Sulpice, Marie nodded her head with a
satisfied air, and whispered to herself, " The fat fellow has
given me more than his life for his life. I could make him
my creature at very small expense. Creature or creator,
that is all the difference between one man and another ! "

She did not finish her sentence, but cast a despairing
glance to heaven, and slowly made her way back to the
Porte Saint Leonard, where Hulot and Corentin were wait-
ing for her.

" Two days more ! " she cried, " and "

But she stopped, seeing that she and Hulot were not
alone, " and he shall fall under your guns," she whispered
to the commandant. He stepped back a pace, and gazed
with an air of satire not easy to describe, on the girl whose
face and bearing showed not a touch of remorse. There is
in women this admirable quality, that they never think out
their most blameworthy actions. Feeling carries them
along : they are natural even in their very dissembling, and
in them alone crime can be found without accompanying
baseness, for in most cases " they know not what they do."

" I am going to Saint James, to the ball given by the
Chouans, and "

" But," said Corentin, interrupting her, " it is five leagues
off. Would you like me to go with you .■* "

" You are very busy," said she to him, ".with a subject of
which I never think — with yourself!"

28o THE CHOUANS.

The contempt which Marie showed for Corentin pleased
Hulot particularly, and he made his grimace as she vanished
towards Saint Leonard's. Corentin followed her with his
eyes, showing in his countenance a silent consciousness of
the fated superiority which, as he thought, he could exercise
over this charming creature, by governing the passions on
which he counted to make her one day his. When Mile, de
Verneuil got home she began eagerly to meditate on her
ball dresses. Francine, accustomed to obey without ever
comprehending her mistress's objects, rummaged the band-
boxes, and proposed a Greek costume — everything at that
time obeyed the Greek influence. The dress which Marie
settled upon would travel in a box easy to carry.

" Francine, my child, I am going to make a country
excursion. Make up your mind whether you will stay here
or come with me."

" Stay here !" cried Francine, "and who is to dress you?"

" Where did you put the glove which I gave you back
this morning '^. "

" Here it is."

" Sew a green ribbon in it : and, above all, take money
with you." But when she saw that Francine had in her hands
newly coined pieces, she cried, " You have only to do that
if you want to get us murdered ! Send Jeremy to wake
Corentin, but no — the wretch would follow us. Send to the
commandant instead, to ask him, from me, for crowns of
six francs."

Marie thought of everything with that woman's wit
which takes in the smallest details. While Francine was
finishing the preparations for her unintelligible departure,
she set herself to attempt the imitation of the owl's hoot,
and succeeded in counterfeiting Marche-a-Terre's signal so
as to deceive anybody. As midnight struck she sallied from
the Porte Saint Leonard, gained the little path on the Nid-

A nXy WITHOUT A MORROW. 281

aux-Crocs, and, followed by Francine, ventured across the
valley of Gibarry, walking with a steady step, for she was
inspired by that strong will which imparts to the gait and to
the body an air of power. How to leave a ball-room with-
out catching a cold is for women an important matter ; but let
them feel passion in their hearts, and their body becomes as
it were of bronze. It might have taken even a daring man
a long time to resolve on the undertaking, yet it had
scarcely showed its first aspect to Mile, de Verneuil when
its dangers became attractions for her.

" You are going without commending yourself to God ! "
said Francine, who had turned back to gaze at Saint
Leonard's steeple.

The pious Breton girl halted, clasped her hands, and said
an Ave to Saint Anne of Auray, begging her to bless the
journey ; while her mistress stood lost in thought, looking
by turns at the simple attitude of her maid, who was praying
fervently, and at the effects of the misty moonlight which,
gliding through the carved work of the church, gave to the
granite the lightness of filigree. The two travellers lost no
time in reaching Galope-Chopine's hut ; but light as was the
sound of their steps, it woke one of the large dogs to whose
fidelity the Bretons commit the guardianship of the plain
wooden latch which shuts their doors. The dog ran up to
the two strangers, and his bark became so threatening that
they were obliged to cry for help and retrace their steps
some way. But nothing stirred. Mile, de Verneuil whistled
the owl's hoot : at once the rusty, door-hinges creaked
sharply in answer, and Galope-Chopine, who had hastily
risen, showed his sombre face.

" I have need," said Marie, presenting Montauran's glove
to the surveillant of Fougeres, " to travel quickly to Saint
James. The Count de Bauvan told me that you would act
as my guide and protector thither. Therefore, my dear

o o

282 THE CHOUANS.

Galope-Chopine, get us two donkeys to ride, and be ready
to bear us company. Time is precious, for if we do not
reach Saint James before to-morrow evening we shall see
neither the Gars nor the ball."

Galope-Chopine took the glove with a puzzled air, turned
it this way and that, and kindled a candle made of resin as
thick as the little finger and of the colour of gingerbread.
These wares, imported into Brittany from the north of Europe,
show, like everything that meets the eye in this strange
country, ignorance of even the commonest commercial prin-
ciples. After inspecting the green ribbon, and staring at
Mile, de Verneuil, after scratching his ear, after drinking a
pitcher of cider himself and offering a glass of it to the fair
lady, Galope-Chopine left her before the table on the bench
of polished chestnut wood, and went to seek two donkeys.
The deep blue light which the outlandish candle cast was
not strong enough to master the fantastic play of the moon-
beams that varied with dots of light the dark colourings
of the floor and furniture of the smoky cabin. The little
boy had raised his startled head, and just above his fair hair
two cows showed, through the holes in the stable-wall, their
pink muzzles and their great flashing eyes. The big dog,
whose countenance was not the least intelligent of the family
group, appeared to be examining the two strangers with a
curiosity equal to that of the child, h. painter might have
spent a long time in admiring the effects of this night-piece,
but Marie, not anxious to enter into talk with Barbette, who
was sitting up in bed like a spectre, and began to open her
eyes very wide as she recognized her visitor, went out to
escape at once the pestiferous air of the hovel and the ques-
tions which " La Becaniere " was likely to put to her. She
climbed with agility the staircase up the rock which sheltered
Galope-Chopine's hut, and admired the vast assembly of
details in a landscape where the point of view changed with

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

283

every step forwards or backwards, upwards or downwards.
At the moment the moonlight enveloped the valley of
the Couesnon as with luminous fog, and sure enough a
woman who carried slighted love in her heart must have
relished the melancholy which this soft light produces in the
soul by the fantastic shapes which it im-
presses on solid bodies, and the tints which
it throws upon the waters. Then the
silence was broken by the bray of the asses.
Marie quickly
descended to the

Chouan's hut, and
they set off at once. Galope-
Chopine, who was armed with a
double-barrelled fowling-piece, wore a goatskin, which gave
him the appearance of Robinson Crusoe. His wrinkled and
pimpled countenance was scarcely visible under the broad
hat which the peasants still keep as a vestige of old time,
feeling pride at having gained in spite of their serfdom the
sometime decoration of lordly heads. This nocturnal proces-
sion, guarded by a guide whose dress, attitude, and general
appearance had something patriarchal, resembled the scene
of the F"light into Egypt, which we owe to the sombre

284 THE CHOUANS.

pencil of Rembrandt. Galope-Chopine avoided the high-
way with care, and guided the travellers through the vast
labyrinth of the Breton cross-roads.

Then Mile, de Verneuil began to understand the Chouan
fashion of warfare. As she traversed these roads she could
better appreciate the real condition of districts which, seen
from above, had appeared to her so charming, but which
must be penetrated in order to grasp their danger and their
inextricable difficulty. Around each field the peasants have
raised, time out of mind, an earthen wall, six feet high, of
the form of a truncated pyramid, on the top whereof chestnut
trees, oaks, and beeches grow. This wall, planted after
such a fashion, is called a "hedge" — the Norman style of
hedge — and the long branches of the trees which crown it,
flung as they almost always are over the pathway, make a
huge arbour overhead. The roadways, gloomily walled in by
these clay banks or walls, have a strong resemblance to the
fosse of a fortress, and when the granite, which in this
country almost always crops up flush with the surface of the
ground, does not compose a kind of uneven pavement, they
become so impassable that the smallest cart cannot travel
over them without the help of a pair of oxen or horses,
small but generally stout. These roads are so constantly
muddy that custom has established for foot passengers a
path inside the field and along the hedge — a path called a
rote, beginning and ending with each holding of land. In
order to get from one field to another it is thus necessary to
climb the hedge by means of several steps, which the rain
often makes slippery enough.

But these were by no means the only obstacles which
travellers had to overcome in these tortuous lanes. Each
piece of land, besides being fortified in the manner described,
has a regular entrance about ten feet wide and crossed by
what is called in the west an Schalier. This is the trunk or

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

28s

a stout branch of a tree, one end of which, drilled thr
fits as it were into
a handle com-
posed of ano-
ther piece of
shapeless wood
serving as a
pivot. The ex-
treme butt end
of the dchalier
extends a little beyond
the pivot, so as to be ^J,
able to carry a heavy

'"Ik k a

immi burden

7i.»,i^ ta-

in the
^-^ shape of
a counter-
/ weight, and to
allow even a
child to work
this strangfe
kind of country
gate. The other end of
it rests in a hole made

286 THE C HO VANS.

on the inside of the hedge. Sometimes the peasants
economize the counterweight-stone by letting the heavy end
of the trunk or branch hang over. The style of the barrier
is altered according to the fancy of each owner. It often
consists of a single branch, the two ends of which are
socketed into the hedge by earth ; often also it looks like a
square gate built up of several thin branches fixed at intervals
like the rungs of a ladder set crosswise. This gate turns
like the ^chalier itself, and its other end plays on a small
wheel of solid wood. These hedges and gates give the
ground the appearance of a huge chessboard, each field of
which makes an enclosure completely isolated from the rest,
walled in like a fortress, and like it possessing ramparts.
The gate, easy to defend, gives the assailant the least easy
of all conquests : for the Breton peasant thinks that he fer-
tilizes his fallows by allowing them to grow huge broom
bushes — a shrub which finds such consrenial treatment in
this district that it soon orows to the heicrht of a man.
This notion — worthy of people who put their manure on the
highest patch of their farmyards — keeps upon the soil in one
field out of every four, forests of broom, in the midst of
which all manner of ambuscades can be arranged. And, to
conclude, there is hardly a field where there are not some
old cider-apple trees dropping their branches low over it
and killing the crops which they cover. Thus, if the reader
will remember how small the fields are where every hedge
supports far ranging trees, whose greedy roots monopolize
a fourth of the ground, he will have an idea of the agri-
cultural arrangement and general appearance of the country
which Mile, de Verneuil was now traversincf.

It is difficult to say whether anxiety to avoid disputes
about title, or the custom, dear to laziness, of shutting in
cattle without having to herd them, has most to do with the
construction of these formidable enclosures, whose enduring

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 287

obstacles make the country impenetrable, and forbid all war
with large bodies of men. When the lie of the ground has
been examined step by step, it is clear what must be the
fated ill-success of a war between regular and irregular
troops : for five hundred men might laugh at the army of a
kingdom. In this was the whole secret of the Chouan war.
And Mile, de Verneuil at once understood the need which
the Republic had of stifling disorder by means of police and
diplomacy rather than by the useless use of military force.
What could be done indeed against men clever enough to
scorn the holding of towns, and make sure of holding the
country with its indestructible fortifications ? How do aught
but negotiate when the whole strength of these blinded
peasants lay in a skilful and enterprising chief ? She
admired the genius of the minister who had guessed in his
study the secret of peace : she thought she could see the
considerations working on men powerful enough to hold a
whole empire under their glance, and whose deeds, criminal
to the vulgar eye, are only the workings of a vast thought.
These awe-inspiring souls are divided, one knows not how,
between the power of fate and destiny, and they possess a
foresight the first evidence of which exalts them. The
crowd looks for them amongst itself, then lifts its eyes and
sees them soaring above it. This consideration appeared to
justify and even to ennoble the thoughts of vengeance which
Mile, de Verneuil had formed ; and in consequence her re-
flections and her hopes gave her energy enough to bear the
unwonted fatigues of her journey. At the end of each
property Galope-Chopine was obliged to make the two
travellers dismount and to help them to climb the difficult
stiles : while, when the rotes came to an end, they had to get
into the saddle again and venture into the muddy lanes,
which already gave tokens of the approach of winter. The
joint action of the great trees, of the hollow ways, and of the

288 THE CHOUANS.

field-enclosures kept up in the lower grounds a dampness
which often wrapped the travellers as in a cloak of ice.
After toilsome exertions they reached by sunrise the woods
of Marignay, and the journey in the wide forest path then
became less difficult. The vault of branches and the thick-
ness of the tree-trunks sheltered the voyagers from the
inclemency of the sky, and the manifold difficulties which
they had at first to surmount disappeared.

They had scarcely journeyed a league across the wood
when they heard afar off a confused murmur of voices and the
sound of a bell, whose silvery tinkle was free from the mono-
tonous tone given by cattle as they walk. As he went along
Galope-Chopine listened to this music with much attention,
aud soon a gust of wind brought to his ear a snatch of
psalmody which seemed to produce a great effect on him.
He at once drove the weary beasts into a path diverging
from that which would lead the travellers to Saint James :
and he turned a deaf ear to the representations of Mile, de
Verneuil, whose fears increased with the gloomy character
of the landscape.

To right and left huge granite rocks, piled the one on the
other, presented singular outlines, while between them enor-
mous roots crawled like great snakes in search of distant
nourishment for immemorial beeches. The two sides of
the road resembled those subterranean grottoes which are
famous for their stalactites. Vast festoons of ivy,' among
which the dark verdure of holly and of heath mingled with the
greenish or whitish patches of moss, veiled the crags and the
entrance of some deep caves. When the three travellers had
gone some steps in a narrow path a most surprising spectacle
presented itself to Mile, de Verneuil's eyes, and explained
to her Galope-Chopine's obstinacy.

' The text has //cm', which is nonsense. Lierrc\% certissima emendatio.
— Translator's Note.

A d/y without a morrow. 289

A semi-circular basin, wholly composed of masses of
granite, formed an amphitheatre on whose irr-egular tiers
tall black pines and yellowing chestnuts rose one above the
other like a great circus, into which the wintry sun seemed
rather to instil a pale colouring than to pour its light, and
where autumn had already thrown the tawny carpet of its
withered leaves on all sides. In the middle of this hall,
which seemed to have had the deluge for its architect, there
rose three enormous druidic stones, composing a vast altar
upon which was fastened an old church banner. Some
hundred men knelt, bareheaded and fervently praying, in the
enclosure, while a priest, assisted by two other ecclesiastics,
was saying mass. The shabbiness of the sacred vestments,
the thin voice of the priest, which scarcely murmured an echo
through space, the devout congregation unanimous in senti-
ment, and prostrate before an altar devoid of pomp, the
cross bare of ornament, the stern rusticity of the temple, the
hour, the place — all gave to the scene the character of sim-
plicity which distinguished the early ages of Christianity.
Mile, de Verneuil was and remained struck with admiration.
This mass said in the heart of the woods, this worship
driven by persecution back to its own sources, this poetry of
ancient times boldly contrasted with natural surroundings of
fantastic strangeness, these Chouans at once armed and un-
armed, cruel and devout, childlike and manly, — the whole
scene, in short, was unlike anything that she had before seen
or imagined. She remembered well enough that in her
childhood she had admired the pomp of the Roman Church,
which appeals so cunningly to the senses : but she had
never yet seen God alone, his cross on the altar, his altar
on the bare ground, the autumn trees supporting the dome
of heaven in place of the fretted mouldings which crown the
Gothic arches of cathedrals, the sun stealing with difficulty
its ruddy rays and duller reflections upon the altar, the

p p

290 THE CHOUANS.

priest and the congrejj;ation, instead of the thousand hues
flung by stained glass. Here men represented a fact, and
not a system, here was prayer and not formality. But human
passions, whose momentary suppression gave the picture all
its harmony, soon reappeared in this scene of mystery and
infused in it a powerful animation.

The gospel was drawing to a close as Mile, de Verneuil
came up. With no small alarm she recognized in the cele-
brant the Abbe Gudin, and hid herself quickly from his
sight, availing herself of a huge fragment of granite for a
hiding-place, into which she briskly drew Francine. But
she tried in vain to tear Galope-Chopine from the place
which he had chosen in order to share in the advantages of
the ceremony. She entertained, however, hopes of being
able to escape the danger which threatened her when she
noticed that the nature of the ground gave her the oppor-
tunity of withdrawing before the rest of the congregation.
By the help of a wide crack in the rock she could see Abbe
Gudin mounting a mass of granite which served him as
pulpit. He began his sermon in these terms:

" In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost /"

At which words the whole congregation piously made
the sign of the cross.

" My dear brethren," the abbe went on in a loud voice,
" let us first pray for the dead. Jean Cochegrue, Nicolas
Laferte, Joseph Brouet, Franqois Parquoi, Sulpice Coupiau :
— all of this parish, who died of the wounds they received at
the fight on the Pilgrim and at the siege of Fougeres."

Then was recited the " De Profundis " according to cus-
tom, by the congregation and the priests antiphonally, and
with a fervour which gave good augury of the success of
the preaching. When this psalm for the dead was finished.
Abbe Gudin went on in a voice of ever-increasing strength,

A £>Ay WITHOUT A MORROW. 291

for the old Jesuit did not forget that energy of deHvery was
the most powerful of arguments to persuade his -uncultivated
hearers.

"Christians !" he said, " these champions of God have set
you an example of your duty. Are you not ashamed of
what they may be saying of you in Paradise ? But for those
blessed ones who must have been received there with open
arms by all the saints, our Lord might believe that your
parish is inhabited by followers of M abound ! ' Do you
know, my gars, what they say of you in Brittany and at
Court ? You do not know it, do you ? Then I will tell you :
they say : — ' What ! the Blues have thrown down the altars,
they have killed the rectors, they have murdered the king
and the queen, they would fain take all the parishioners of
Brittany to make Blues of them like themselves, and send
them to fight far from their parishes, in distant lands where
men run the risk of dying without confession, and so going
to hell for all eternity. And do the gars of Marignay, whose
church they have burnt, stay with their arms dangling by
their sides .-' Oh ! Oh ! This Republic of the damned has
sold the goods of God and the seigneurs by auction, it has
shared the price among its Blues, and now, in order to feast on
money as it has feasted on blood, it has just resolved to take
three livres on each crown of six francs, just as it levies three
men out of every six. And have not the gars of Marignay
caught up their guns to drive the Blues out of Brittany ?
Aha! The door of Paradise shall be shut on them, and they
shall never again be able to gain salvation.' That is what
they are saying of you. So, Christian brethren, it is your
salvation which is at stake : you will save your souls by fight-
ing for the faith and for the king. Saint Anne of Auray
herself appeared to me yesterday at half-past two. She said
to me, just as I tell it to you, ' You are a priest of Marig-
' Mahumetisches. — Translator's Note.

292 THE CHOUANS.

nay ? ' Yes, madame, at your service. ' Well, then, I am
Saint Anne of Auray, aunt of God after the fashion of
Brittany. I am still at Auray, but I am here, too, because I
have come to bid you tell the gars of Marignay that they
have no salvation to hope for if they do not take up arms.
Therefore you shall refuse them absolution of their sins if
they will not serve God. You shall bless their guns, and
those gars who are sinless shall not miss the Blues, because
their guns are holy.' And she disappeared, leaving a smell of
incense under the Goosefoot Oak. I made a mark at the
spot, and the rector of Saint James has put up a fair wooden
Virgin there. What is more, the mother of Pierre Leroy,
called Marche-a-Terre, came to pray there in the evening,
and was cured of her pains because of her son's good works.
There she is in the midst of you : and you can see her with
your own eyes walking alone. This miracle has been done^
like the resurrection of the blessed Marie Lambrequin, to
show you that God will never desert the cause of Bretons
when they fight for His servants and for the king. There-
fore, dear brethren, if you would save your souls, and show
yourselves champions of your lord the king, you must obey
the orders of him whom the king has sent, and whom we
call the Gars. Then shall you no more be like the followers
of M abound, and men will find you with all the gars of qll
Brittany, under the banner of God. You can take back out
of the Blues' pockets all the money they have stolen : for if,
while you fight, your fields be not sown, the Lord and the
king make over to you the spoils of your enemies. Shall
it be said. Christian brethren, that the gars of Marignay are
behind the gars of Morbihan, of Saint Georges, of Vitr^, of
Antrain, who are all serving God and the king ? Will you
leave them all the booty } Will you stay like heretics with
folded arms while so many Bretons secure their salvation
and save their king 1 ' Ye ^hall give up all for me,' the

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

293

Gospel says. Have not 7oe already given up the tithes ?
Do you then give up all in order to make this holy war !
You shall be like the Maccabees ; all your sins shall be for-
given you : you shall find your rectors and their curates
in your midst : and you shall triumph ! Pay attention to

this, Christian brethren," concluded he, " to-day, to-day only
we have the power of blessing your guns. Those who do
not avail themselves of this grace will not find the Holy
One of Auray so merciful another time ; and she will not
listen to them as she did in the last war !"

This sermon, supported by the thunder of obstreperous
lungs and by a variety of gesticulations which made the

294 THE CHOUANS.

speaker perspire, had in appearance little effect. The
peasants, standing motionless, with eyes rivetted on the
orator, looked like statues. But Mile, de Verneuil soon
perceived that this general attitude was the result of the
spell which the abbe had cast over the crowd. He had, like
all great actors, swayed his whole auditory as one man by
appealing to their interests and their passions. Had he not
given them absolution for their excesses beforehand, and
cast loose the ties which still kept these wild men to the
observance of social and religious laws ? True, he had
prostituted his priesthood to political purposes : but in these
times of revolution each man made what he had a weapon
in the cause of his party, and the peace -giving cross of
Jesus was beaten into a sword as well as the food-giving
ploughshare. As she saw no being before her who could
enter into her feelings, she turned to Francine, and was not
a little surprised to see her sharing the enthusiasm and
telling her beads devoutly on the rosary of Galope-Chopine,
who had no doubt lent it to her during the sermon.

" Francine," she said in a low tone, " are you too afraid of
being a Malmmitischc ?

" Oh, mademoiselle ! " replied the Breton girl, " look at
Pierre's mother walking there!" and Francine's attitude
showed such profound conviction that Marie understood at
once the secret of this preaching, the influence of the clergy
in the country districts, and the wonderful results of such
scenes as now began. The peasants nearest to the altar
advanced one by one and knelt down, presenting their pieces
to the preacher, who laid them on the altar, Galope-Chopine
being one of the first to offer his old duck gun. The three
priests then chanted the hymn ycni Creator, while the cele-
brant enveloped the murderous implements in a cloud of
bluish incense smoke, weaving what seemed interlaced pat-
terns with it. As soon as the wind had dissipated this smoke,

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 295

the guns were given back in succession, and each man received
his own kneeHng from the hands of the priests, who recited a
Latin prayer as they returned the pieces. When the armed
men had returned to their places, the deep enthusiasm of the
congregation, speechless till then, broke out in a manner at
once terrible and touching.

Domiiie, salvum fac regc7ii !

Such was the prayer which the preacher thundered with
echoing voice, and which was sung twice over with vehement
shouts which were at once wild and warlike. The two notes
of the word regein, which the peasants translated without
difficulty, were poured out with such energy that Mile, de
Verneuil could not help thinking with emotion of the exiled
Bourbons. Their memory evoked that of her own past life,
and she recalled the festivities of the Court, now scattered
far and wide, but in which she herself had been a star. The
form of the marquis intruded itself into this reverie, and with
the rapid change of thought natural to women, she forgot
the spectacle before her, and returned to her projects of ven-
geance— projects where life was at stake and which might
be wrecked by a glance. While meditating how to make
herself beautiful in this the most critical moment of her
existence, she remembered that she had nothing to wear in
her hair at the ball, and was enticed by the notion of wearing
a holly branch — the crinkled leaves and scarlet berries of
which caught her attention at the moment.

" Aha ! " said Galope-Chopine, nodding his head con-
tentedly, " my gun may miss if I fire at birds now : but at
Blues, never ! "

Marie looked more curiously at her guide's face, and found
it typical of all those she had just seen. The old Chouan
seemed to be more destitute of ideas than an average child.
His cheeks and brow wrinkled with simple joy as he looked
at his gun : but the expression of this joy was tinged with a

296 THE CHOUANS.

fanaticism which for a moment gave his savage countenance
a touch of the faults of civilization.

Soon they reached a village, or rather a collection of four
or five dwellings resembling that of Galope-Chopine : and
the newly-recruited Chouans arrived there while Mile, de
Verneuil was finishing a meal composed solely of bread,
butter, milk, and cheese. This irregular band was led by
the rector, who held in his hand a rude cross in guise of
a standard, and was followed by a gars, proud of his post
as parish ensign. Mile, de Verneuil found it necessary to
join this detachment, which was, like herself, making for
Saint James, and which protected her as a matter of course
from all danger from the moment when Galope-Chopine,
with lucky indiscretion, told the leader that the pretty garce
whom he was guiding was a dear friend of the Gars.

About sunset the travellers arrived at Saint James, a little
town owing its name to the English who built it in the four-
teenth century, when they were masters of Brittany. Before
entering it. Mile, de Verneuil witnessed a singular military
spectacle, to which she paid little attention, fearing to be recog-
nized by some of her enemies, and hastening her steps owing
to this fear. Five or six thousand peasants were encamped
in a field. Their costumes, which pretty closely resembled
those of the requisitionaries at the Pilgrim, had nothing in
the least warlike about them : and their tumultuous assembly
was like that at a great fair. It was even needful to look
somewhat narrowly in order to discover that these Bretons
were armed, for their goatskins, differently arranged as they
were, almost hid their guns, and their most visible weapon
was the scythe with which some supplied the place of the
guns which were to be served out to them. Some ate and
drank : some fought or loudly wrangled : but most of them
lay asleep on the ground. There was no semblance of
order or of discipline. An officer in red uniform caught

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

297

Mile, de Verneuil's eye, and she supposed that he must be
in the English service. Further off, two other officers
seemed to be trying to instruct some Chouans, more intelli-
gent than the rest, in the management of two cannon which

'S^

'^f)^<~

+u...l^•

appeared to constitute the whole park of artillery of the
Royalist army that was to be. The arrival of the gars of
Marignay, who were recognized by their banner, was greeted
with yells of welcome : and under cover of the excitement
which the troop and the rectors aroused in the camp. Mile,
de Verneuil was able to cross it and enter the town without
danger. She betook herself to an inn of modest appearance,
and not far from the house where the ball was to be held :

QQ

298 THE CHOUANS.

but the town was so crowded that, with the greatest possible
trouble, she could only obtain a small and inconvenient room.
When she was established there, and when Galope-Chopine
had handed to Francine the bandbox containing her mis-
tress's clothes, he remained standing in an indescribable
attitude of expectancy and irresolution. At another time
Mile, de Verneuil might have amused herself with the
spectacle of a Breton peasant out of his own parish. But
she broke the spell by taking from her purse four crowns of
six francs each which she presented to him. " Take them,"
she said, " and if you will do me a favour, go back at once
to Fougeres without passing through the camp, and without
tasting cider."

The Chouan, astounded at such generosity, shifted his
eyes by turns from the crowns he had received to Mile, de
Verneuil : but she waved her hand and he departed.

"How can you send him away, mademoiselle?" asked
Francine. '" Did you not see how the town is surrounded ?
How are we to get away ? And who will protect us here ? "

" Have you not got a protector?" said Mile, de Verneuil,
with a low mocking whistle, after the manner of Marche-a-
Terre, whose ways she tried to imitate.

Francine blushed and smiled rather sadly at her mistress's
merriment.

" But where \% your protector ?" she said.

Mile, de Verneuil drew her dagger with a brusque move-
ment, and showed it to the terrified Breton girl, who dropped
on a chair with clasped hands.

" What have you come to look for here, Marie ? " she
cried in a beseeching voice, but one which did not call for
an answer.

Mile, de Verneuil, who was busying herself in twisting
about the holly twigs she had gathered, said only : " I am
not sure whether this holly, will look really well in my hair.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

299

A face must be as bright as mine is to endure so dark a
headdress. What do you think, Francine ? "

Not a few other remarks of the same kind indicated that
the strange girl was perfectly unconcerned as she made her

toilette : and anyone overhearing her would have had some
difficulty in understanding the gravity of the crisis in which
she was risking her life. A dress of India muslin, rather
short, and clinging like damp linen, showed the delicate out-
lines of her shape. Then she put on a red over-skirt, whose
folds, numerous and lengthening as they fell to one side, had
the graceful sweep of a Greek tunic. This passion-provoking
garment of pagan priestesses lessened the indelicacy of the

300 THE CHOUANS.

costume which the fashion of the day permitted to women in
dressing, and, to reduce it still further, Marie threw a gauze
veil over her white shoulders, which the tunic left bare all too
low. She twisted the long plaits of her hair so as to form at
the back of her head the truncated and flattened cone which
by artificially lengthening the head gives such grace to the
appearance of certain antique statues, while a few curls, left
loose above the forehead, fell on each side of her face in
long glistening ringlets. In such a garb and headdress she
exactly resembled the most famous masterpieces of the
Greek chisel. When she had by a smile signified her
approbation of this coiffure, whose least detail set off the
beauties of her face, she placed on it the holly wreath which
she had arranged, and the numerous scarlet berries of which
happily reproduced in her hair the shade of her tunic. As
she twisted some of the leaves so as to make fantastic con-
trast between their two sides. Mile, de Verneuil contemplated
the whole of her toilette in the gla.ss to judge its effect.

" I am hideous to-night," she said (as if she were in a
circle of flatterers). " I look like a statue of Liberty."

Then she carefully stuck the dagger in the centre of her
corset, .so that the rubies of its hilt might protrude, and by
their ruddy reflections attract eyes to the beauties which her
rival had so unworthily violated. Francine could not make
up her mind to quit her mistress, and when she saw her
ready to start, she devised pretexts for accompanying her
out of all the obstacles which ladies have to overcome when
they go to a merrymaking in a little town of Lower Brittany.
Must she not be there to relieve Mile, de Verneuil of her
cloak, of the over-shoes which the mud and dirt of the streets
made it necessary (though the precaution of spreading gravel
over them had been taken) for her to wear, and of the gauze
veil in which she hid her head from the gaze of the Chouans
whom curiosity brought round the house where the festival

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 301

took place ? The crowd was so great that the two girls
walked between rows of Chouans. Francine made no fur-
ther attempt to keep her mistress back : but having put the
last touches to a toilette whose merit consisted in its extreme
freshness, she remained in the courtyard that she might not
leave her to the chances of her fate without being able to
fly to her help. For the poor girl foresaw nothing but mis-
fortune.

A sufficiently curious scene was taking place in Montauran's
apartment while Marie made her way to the ball. The
young marquis was finishing his toilette, and putting on the
broad red ribbon which was to indicate him as the most
prominent personage in the assembly, when the Abbe Gudin
entered with a troubled air.

" My lord marquis," said he, " pray come quickly. You
alone can calm the storm which has arisen, I hardly know
on what occasion, among our chiefs. They are talking of
quitting the king's service. I believe that devil of a Rifoel
to be the cause of the whole disturbance, for brawls of this
kind are always brought about by some folly They tell me
that Madame du Gua upbraided him with coming to the
ball very ill dressed."

" The woman must be mad ! " cried the marquis, " to
wish "

" The Chevalier du Viss^ird," went on the abb^, cutting
his leader short, " replied that if you had given him the
money which was promised him in the king's name "

" Enough, abbe, enough ! I understand the whole thing
now. The scene was arranged beforehand, was it not .'' and
you are the ambassador "

" I ! " continued the abbe, interrupting again, " I, my
lord marquis ! I am going to give you the heartiest support,
and I trust you will do me the justice to believe that the re-
establishment of our altars in France, the restoration of the

302 THE CHOUANS.

king to the throne of his fathers, are far more powerful
stimulants of my humble efforts than that bishopric of Rennes
which you "

The abbe dared not finish, for a bitter smile had come
upon the marquis's face. But the young leader immediately
choked down the sad thoughts which came to him, his brow
assumed a stern look, and he followed the Abbe Gudin into
a room echoing with noisy clamour.

"1 acknowledge no man's authority here !" cried Rifoel,
casting fiery glances at all those around him, and laying his
hand on his sword-hilt.

" Do you acknowledge the authority of common sense ? "
asked the marquis coolly. And the young Chevalier du
Vissard, better known by his family name of Rifoel, was
silent before the commander-in-chief of the Catholic armies.

" What is the matter, gentlemen } " said the young leader,
scrutinizing the faces of the company.

" The matter is, my lord marquis, " answered a famous
smuggler — with the awkwardness of a man of the people
who is at first hampered by the restraints of prejudice in the
presence of a grand seigneur, but who knows no limits when
he has once crossed the barrier which separates them and
sees before him only an equal — " The matter is that you
have come just at the nick of time. I am not good at gilded
words : so I will speak plumply and plainly. Throughout
the last war I commanded five hundred men. Since we took
up arms once more I have been able to put at the king's
service a thousand heads as hard as my own. For seven
long years I have been risking my life for the good cause.
I am not throwing it in your teeth : but the labourer is
worthy of his hire. Therefore, to begin with, I would be
called M. de Cottereau, and I would have the rank of
colonel accorded to me, otherwise I shall tender my sub-
mission to the First Consul. You see, my lord marquis,

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROU .

3°3

I and my men have a devil of a dunning creditor whom we
must satisfy. He is here ! " he added, striking his stomach.
" Has the band come ? " asked the marquis of Madame du
Gua, in a mocking tone.

But the smuggler had broached, however brutally, too
important a subject, and these bold spirits, as calculating as
they were ambitious, had been already too long in doubt as
to what they might hope from the king, for mere disdain on
the young chief's part to close the incident. The young and
fiery Chevalier du Vissard started briskly before Montauran
and seized his hand to prevent his moving.

" Take care, my lord marquis ! " said he, " you treat too
lightly men who have some right to the gratitude of him

304 THE C HO VANS.

whom you represent here. We know that his majesty has
given you full powers to put on record our services which
are to be rewarded in this world — or the next, for the
scaffold stands ready for us every day. I know for my part
that the rank of marechal de camp ' "

" You mean colonel ? "

" No, marquis, Charette made me colonel. The rank I
have mentioned is my incontestable right : and therefore I
do not speak for myself at this moment, but for all my bold
brethren in arms whose services have need of recognition.
For the present, your signature and your promise will
content them, and," he added, dropping his voice, " I confess
that they are easily contented.- But," he went on, raising it
again, " when the sun rises on the Palace of Versailles,
bringing happier days for the monarchy, will those faithful
men who have helped the king to conquer France in France
— will they be easily able to obtain favours for their families,
pensions for their widows, the restoration of the estates
which have been so wrongfully confiscated ? I doubt it.
Therefore, my lord marquis, attested proof of service will
not be useless then. I will never mistrust the king, but I
very heartily distrust his cormorants of ministers and
courtiers, who will din into his ears considerations about
the public welfare, the honour of France, the interests of the
crown, and a hundred other rubbishy phrases. Men will
make mock then of a brave Vendean or Chouan because he
is old and because the blade he has drawn for the good
cause beats against legs wizened by suffering. Can you say
we are wrong ? "

"You speak admirably well, M. du Vissard," answered
the marquis, "but a little prematurely."

" Hark you, marquis," whispered the Count de Bauvan,

' As nearly as possible = brigadier-general, except that this latter is, as a
rule, local and temporary. — Translator' s Note.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 305

" Rifoel has, by my faith ! said very pretty things. For your
part, you are sure of always having the king's ear ; but as for
us, we shall only visit our master at long intervals, and I confess
to you, that if you were to refuse your word as a gentleman
to obtain for me in due time and place the post of Grand
Master of the Waters and Forests of France, devil take me if
I would risk my neck! It is no small thing to gain Normandy
for the king, and so I think I may fairly hope to have the Order.'
But," he added, with a blush, "there is time to think of all
that. God keep me from imitating these rascals, and worrying
you. You will speak of me to the king, and all will go right."

Then each chief managed to inform the marquis in a more
or less ingenious fashion of the extravagant price which he
expected for his services. One modestly asked for the
Governorship of Brittany, another for a barony, a third for
promotion, a fourth for the command of a place, and all
wanted pensions.

"Why, baron !" said the marquis to M. de Guenic, "do
you want nothing .■* "

" Faith ! marquis, these gentlemen have left me nothing but
the crown of France, but perhaps I could put up with that ! "

" Why, gentlemen ! " said th? Abbe Gudin, in his thunder-
ing voice, " remember that if you are so eager, you will spoil
all in the day of victory. Will not the king be forced to
make concessions to the Revolutionaries them.selves ? "

" To the Jacobins ? " cried the smuggler. " If his
majesty will leave them to me, I will undertake to employ
my thousand men in hanging them, and we shall soon get
them off our hands ! "

" Monsieur dc Cottereau," said the marquis, " I perceive
that some invited guests are entering the room. We ought
all to vie in zeal and pains so as to induce them to join our
holy enterprise : and you must understand that it is not the

' L'Ordre by itself usually means the Saint Esprit. — Translalot's Note.

K K

3o6

THE CHOUANS.

time to attend to your demands, however just they may be."
And as he spoke he made his way towards the door as if to
welcome some nobles from the neighbouring country of
whom he had caught sight. But the bold smuggler barred
his way, though with a submissive and respectful air.

" No ! no ! my lord marquis, excuse me, but the Jacobins

taught us too well in 1793 that the man who reaps the
harvest is not the man who eats the cake. Sign this strip
of paper, and to-morrow I will bring you fifteen hundred
gars. If not, I shall treat with the First Consul."

Throwing a haughty glance round him, the marquis saw
that the old guerilla's boldness and resolute air were not
displeasing to any of the spectators of the dispute. One
man only, who sat in a corner, seemed to take no part in
the scene, and was busily filling a white clay pipe with
tobacco. The contemptuous air with which he regarded

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 307

the spokesmen, his unassuming attitude, and the compassion
for himself which the marquis read in his eyes, made Mont-
auran scrutinize this generous-minded servant, in whom he
recognized Major Brigaut. The chief walked quickly up to
him ;

" And you," he said, " what is your demand ? "

" Oh ! my lord marquis, if the king comes back, I shall
be saitisfied."

" But for yourself?"

" For myself? Your lordship is joking."

The marquis squeezed the Breton's horny hand, and said
to Madame du Gua, near whom he was standing, " Madame,
I may fail in my enterprise before having time to send the
king an exact report as to the state of the Catholic army
in Brittany. If you live to see the Restoration, forget
neither this honest fellow nor the Baron du Guenic. There
is more devotion in those two than in all these people here."

And he pointed to the chiefs who were waiting, not with-
out impatience, for the young marquis to comply with their
demands. They all held in their hands open papers, in
which, it would seem, their services had been certified by
the Royalist leaders in former wars ; and a general murmur
began to rise from them. In their midst the Abbe Gudin,
the Baron du Gu(;nic, and the Comte de Bauvan were con-
sulting how to aid the marquis in checking such exaggerated
pretensions : for they could not but think the chief's position
a very awkward one.

Suddenly the marquis ran his blue eyes, with an ironic
flash in them, over the company, and said, in a clear voice :
" Gentlemen, I do not know whether the powers which the
king has graciously entrusted to me are wide enough to
enable me to satisfy your demands. He may not have
anticipated so much zeal and devotion ; you shall judge for
yourselves of my duty, and perhaps I shall be able to do it."

3o8 THE CHOUANS.

He disappeared, and came back promptly, holding in his
hand an open letter bearing the royal seal and sign manual.

" Here," he said, " are the letters patent in virtue of which
your obedience is due to me. They authorize me to govern
the provinces of Brittany, Normandy, Maine, and Anjou in
the king's name, and to take cognizance of the services of
officers who distinguish themselves in his majesty's armies."

A movement of content passed through the assembly, and
the Chouans came nearer to the marquis, respectfully en-
circling him, with their eyes bent on the king's signature.
But the young chief, who was standing before the chimney-
piece, suddenly threw the letter in the fire, where, in a
moment, it was consumed.

" I will no more command," cried the young man, " any
but those who see in the king a king, and not a prey to be
devoured. Gentlemen, you are at liberty to leave me ! "

Madame du Gua, Abbe Gudin, Major Brigaut, the
Chevalier du Vissard, the Baron du Guenic, the Comte
de Bauvan, gave an enthusiastic cry of Vive Ic Roi, and if
at first the other chiefs hesitated for a moment to echo it,
they were soon carried away by the marquis's noble conduct,
begged him to forget what had happened, and assured him
that, letters patent or none, he should always be their chief.

" Let us go and dance ! " cried the Comte de Bauvan,
"come what may! After all, friends," added he merrily,
" it is better to pray to God himself than to His saints. Let
us fight first, and see what happens afterwards."

"That is very true," whispered Major Brigaut to the
faithful Baron du Guenic. " Saving your reverence, my lord
baron, I never heard the day's wage asked for in the
morning."

The company scattered themselves about the rooms,
where several persons were already assembled. But the
marquis vainly endeavoured to shake off the gloomy ex-

»

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 309

pression which had changed his looks. The chiefs could
not fail to perceive the unfavourable impression which the
scene had produced on a man whose loyalty was still as-
sociated with the fair illusions of youth ; and they were
ashamed.

Still, a riotous joy broke out in the meeting, composed as
it was of the most distinguished persons in the Royalist
party, who, in the depths of a revolted province, had never
been able to appreciate the events of the Revolution justly,
and naturally took the most doubtful hopes for realities.
The bold operations which Montauran had undertaken, his
name, his fortune, his ability, made all men pluck up their
courage, and brought about that most dangerous of all in-
toxications, the intoxication politic, which can never be cooled
but by torrents of blood, almost always shed in vain. To all
the company the Revolution was but a passing trouble in the
kingdomof France, where, as it seemed to them, no real change
had taken place. The country was still the property of the
House of Bourbon, and the Royalists were so completely
dominant there, that, four years before, Hoche had secured
not so much a peace as an armistice. Therefore the nobles made
small account of the Revolutionists : in their eyes Bonaparte
was a Marceau somewhat luckier than his predecessors.
So the ladies were ready to dance very merrily. Only a
few of the chiefs, who had actually fought with the Blues,
comprehended the gravity of the actual crisis, and as they
knew that if they spoke of the First Consul and his power
to their benighted comrades they would not be understood,
they talked among themselves, looking at the ladies with a
carelessness which these latter avenged by private criticisms.
Madame du Gua, who seemed to be doing the honours of
the ball, tried to amuse the impatience of the lady dancers
by addressing to each of them conventional compliments.
The screech of the instruments, which were being tuned.

3IO THE CHOUANS.

was already audible when she perceived the marquis, his
face still bearintj some traces of sadness : and she went
rapidly up to him :

" I hope you are not disordered by the very ordinary
inconvenience which these clowns here have caused you ? "
she said to him.

But she received no answer : for the marquis, absorbed
in reverie, thought he heard certain of the considerations
which Marie had prophetically laid before him amidst these
very chiefs at the Vivetiere, to induce him to throw up the
struggle of king against people. But the young man had
too lofty a soul, too much pride, perhaps too much sincerity
of belief, to abandon the work he had begun, and he made
up his mind at this moment to follow it out boldly, in spite
of obstacles. He lifted his head proudly, and only then
understood what Madame du Gua was saying to him.

" Your thoughts are at Fougeres, I suppose ! " she said,
with a bitterness which showed her sense of the uselessness
of the efforts she had made to distract the marquis. " Ah !
my lord, I would give my life to put her into your hands,
and see you happy with her."

" Then why did you take so good a shot at her ? "

" Because I should like to see her either dead or in your
arms. Yes ! I could have loved the Marquis of Montauran
while I thought him a hero. Now, I have for him nothing
but friendship mingled with sorrow, when I see him cut off
from glory by the wandering heart of an opera girl ! "

" As far as love goes," said the marquis in a sarcastic
tone, "you judge me ill. If I loved the girl, madame, I
should feel less desire for her — and if it were not for you,
perhaps, I should not think of her at all."

" There she is ! " said Madame du Gua, suddenly.

The poor lady was terribly hurt by the haste with which
the marquis turned his head ; but as the bright light of the

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

311

candles enabled her to see the smallest changes in the features
of the man so madly loved, she thought she could see
some hope of return, when he once more presented his face
to her, smiling at her woman's stratagem.

" What are you laughing at ? " said the Comte de Bauvan.

" At the bursting of a bubble," answered Madame du Gua
joyfully. " Our marquis, if we are to believe him, cannot
understand to-day how he felt his heart beat a moment for
the baggage ' who called herself Mile, de Verneuil — you re-
member ? "

' Here is the old difficulty of fille. No word used in modern English
meets it. — Translator's Note.

\

312 THE C HO VANS.

" Baggage, madame?" repeated the count, in a reproachful
tone. " It is the duty of the author of a wrong to redress
it, and I give you my word of honour that she is really the
Duke de Verneuil's daughter."

" Count," said the marquis, in a voice of deep emotion,
" which of your ' words ' are we to believe — that given at the
Vivetiere, or that given at Saint James } "

A loud voice announced Mile, de Verneuil. The count
darted to the door, offered his hand to the beautiful stranger
with tokens of the deepest respect, and, ushering her through
the inquisitive crowd to the marquis and Madame du Gua,
answered the astonished chief, " Believe only the word I
give you to-day ! "

Madame du Gua grew pale at the sight of this girl, who
always presented herself at the wrong moment, and who, for
a time, drew herself to her full height, casting haughty
glances over the company, among whom she sought the
guests of the Vivetiere. She waited for the salutation which
her rival was forced to give her, and without even looking
at the marquis, allowed herself to be conducted to a place
of honour by the Count, who seated her near Madame
du Gua herself. Mile, de Verneuil had replied to this
lady's greeting by a slight condescending nod, but, with
womanly instinct, Madame du Gua showed no vexation, and
promptly assumed a smiling and friendly air. Mile, de
Verneuil's singular dress and her great beauty drew for a
moment a murmur of admiration from the company, and
when the marquis and Madame du Gua turned their eyes
to the guests of the Vivetiere, they found in them an air of
respect which seemed to be sincere, each man appearing to
be looking for a way to recover the good graces of the fair
Parisian whom he had mistaken. And so the adversaries
were fairly met.

" But this is enchantment; mademoiselle," said Madame

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 3115

du Gua. " Nobody in the world but you could surprise
people in this way. What ! you have come here all by
yourself?"

"All by myself," echoed Mile, de Verneuil. " And so,
madame, this evening you will have nobody but myself to
kill."

" Do not be too severe," replied Madame du Gua. " I
cannot tell you how glad I am to see you again. I was
really aghast at the thought of my misconduct towards you,
and I was looking for an opportunity which might allow me
to set it right."

" As for your misconduct, madame, I pardon you without
difficulty that towards myself. But I take to heart the
death of the Blues whom you murdered. Perhaps, too, 1
might complain of the weighty character of your despatches :
but there, I forgive everything in consideration of the service
you have done me ! "

Madame du Gua lost countenance as her fair rival squeezed
her hand and smiled on her with insolent grace. The
marquis had remained motionless, but now he clutched the
count's arm.

" You deceived me disgracefully," said he, " and you have
even tarnished my honour. I am not a stage dupe : and I
must have your life or you mine."

" Marquis," answered the count haughtily; " I am ready
to give you every satisfaction that you can desire."

And they moved towards the next room. Even those
guests who had least inkling of the meaning of the scene
began to understand the interest of it, so that when the
fiddlers struck up the dance not a soul stirred.

" Mademoiselle," asked Madame du Gua, clenching her
lips in a kind of fury, " what service have I had the honour
of doing you to deserve this gratitude ? "

" Did you not enlighten me on the true character of the

s s

314

THE CHOUANS.

Marquis of Montauran, madame ? How calmly the odious
man let me perish ! I give him up to you with the greatest
pleasure."

" Then what have you come to seek here ? " said Madame
du Gua sharply.

" The esteem and the repu-
tation of which you robbed
me at the Vivetiere, madame.
As for anything else, do not
disturb yourself. Even if the
marquis came back to me, you
know that a renewal of love is
never love."

Madame du Gua
thereupon took Mile,
de Verneuil's hand
with the ostentatious
endearment of gesture
which women, especi-
ally in men's company,
like to display towards
_ one another.
^^^^^^ "Well, dear child,
I am delighted to
find you so reasonable.
If the service I did you seemed rough at first," said she,
pressing the hand she held, though she felt a keen desire to
tear it as her fingers told her its delicate softness, " it shall be
at least a thorough one. Listen to me," she went on with a
treacherous smile, " I know the character of the Gars. He
would have deceived you. He does not wish to marry, and
cannot marry anybody."
" Really ? "
" Yes, mademoiselle, he only accepted this dangerous

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 315

mission in order to earn the hand of Mile. d'Uxelles, an
alliance in which his majesty has promised him full support."

" What, really ? "

And Mile, de Verneuil added no word to this sarcastic
exclamation. The young and handsome Chevalier du
Vissard, eager to obtain pardon for the pleasantry which
had set the example of insult at the Vivetiere, advanced
towards her with a respectful invitation to dance : and,
extending her hand to him, she rapidly took her place in the
quadrille where Madame du Gua also danced. The dress
of these ladies, all of whose toilettes recalled the fashions of
the exiled court, and who wore powder or frizzled hair,
seemed absurd in comparison with the costume at once rich,
elegant, and severe, which the actual fashion allowed Mile,
de Verneuil to wear, and which, though condemned aloud, was
secretly envied by the other women. As for the men, they
were never weary of admiring the beauty of hair left to
itself, and the details of a dress whose chief grace consisted
in the shape that it displayed.

At this moment the marquis and the count re-entered
the ball-room and came up behind Mile, de Verneuil, who
did not turn her head. Even if a mirror, which hung
opposite, had not apprised her of the marquis's presence, she
could have gues.sed it from the countenance of Madame du
Gua, who hid but ill under an outward air of indifference
the impatience with which she expected the contest certain
to break out sooner or later between the two lovers.
Although Montauran was talking to the count and two
other persons, he could nevertheless hear the remarks of the
dancers of both sexes, who, according to the change of the
figures, were brought from time to time into the place of
Mile, de Verneuil and her neighbours.

" O yes ; certainly, madame," said one ; " she came by
herself."

3i6 THE CHOUANS.

" She must be very brave," said his partner.

"Why, if I were dressed like that, I should think I had
nothing on," said another lady.

"Well, the costume is hardly proper," replied the gentle-
man ; " but she is so pretty, and it suits her so well ! "

" Really, I am quite ashamed for her sake to see how
perfectly she dances. Don't you think she has exactly the
air of an opera girl ? " answered the lady, with a touch of
jealousy.

" Do you think she has come here as an ambassadress from
the First Consul ?" asked a third.

" What a joke ! " replied the gentleman.

" Her innocence will hardly be her dowry," said the lady,
with a laugh.

The Gars turned round sharply to see what woman it
was who allowed herself such a gibe, and Madame du Gua
looked him in the face, as who would say plainly, " You see
what they think of her ! "

" Madame," said the count, with another laugh, to Marie's
enemy, " it is only ladies who have as yet deprived her of
innocence."

The marquis inwardly pardoned Bauvan for all his mis-
deeds ; but when he ventured to cast a glance at his mistress,
whose beauties, like those of all women, were enhanced by
the candle-light, she turned her back to him as she returned
to her place, and began to talk to her partner, so that the
marquis could overhear her voice in its most caressing tones.

" The First Consul sends us very dangerous ambassadors,"
said the chevalier.

" Sir," she replied, " that observation was made before, at
the Vivetiere."

" But you have as good a memory as the king ! " rejoined
the gentleman, vexed at his blunder.

" One must needs remember injuries in order to pardon

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 317

them," said she briskly, and relieving his embarrassment
with a smile.

" Are we all included in this amnesty ? " asked the
marquis.

But she darted out to dance with the excitement of a child,
leaving him unanswered and abashed. He gazed upon her
with a melancholy coldness, which she perceived. And then
she bent her head in one of the coquettish attitudes in which
her exquisitely proportioned neck allowed her to indulge,
forgetting no possible movement which could show the rare
perfection of her form. Enticing as Hope, she was as fugitive
as Memory : and to see her thus was to desire the possession
of her at any cost. She knew this well, and her conscious-
ness of beauty shed an inexpressible charm over her face.
Montauran felt a whirlwind of love, of rage, of madness,
rising in his heart : he pressed the count's hand strongly,
and withdrew.

" What ! has he gone ? " asked Mile, de Verneuil as she
came back to her place.

The count darted to the neighbouring room, and made a
knowing gesture to his protigie as he brought the Gars
back to her.

" He is mine ! " she thought, as she perused in the mirror
the countenance of Montauran, whose face was slightly
agitated, but bright with hope.

She received the young chief at first with glum silence,
but she did not leave him again without a smile. His look
of distinction was so great, that she felt proud of being able
to tyrannize over him, and determined to make him pay
dearly for a kind word or two, that he might know their
value — thereby obeying an instinct which all women follow
in one degree or another. The dance finished, all the
gentlemen of the Vivetiere party surrounded Marie, each
begging pardon for his error with compliments more or less

3i8 THE C HO VANS.

well turned. But he whom she wished to see at her feet
kept aloof from the group of her subjects.

" He thinks I still love him," she thought, "and he will
not be lost in the common herd."

She refused the next dance ; and then, as though the
festival had been given in her honour, she went from
quadrille to quadrille leaning on the arm of the Comte de
Bauvan, with whom she chose to be in a way familiar. The
adventure of the Vivetiere was by this time known in its
minutest details to the whole company, thanks to the pains
taken by Madame du Gua, who hoped, by thus publicly
connecting Mile, de Verneuil and the marquis, to throw
another stumbling-block in the way of their reunion. Hence
the sundered lovers were the object of general attention.
Montauran dared not enter into conversation with his
mistress : for the consciousness of his misdoings and the
violence of his rekindled desires made her almost terrible
to him ; while, on her side, the girl kept watching his face of
pretended calm, while she seemed to be looking at the
dancing.

" It is terribly hot here ! " she said to her cavalier. " I
see M. de Montauran's forehead is quite moist. Take me
somewhere else where I can breathe — I feel stifled."

And, with a nod, she indicated to the count a neighbouring
apartment, which was occupied only by some card-players.
The marquis followed his mistress, whose words he had
guessed by the mere motion of her lips. He ventured to
hope that she was only withdrawing from the crowd in
order to give him an interview, and this supposed favour
added a violence as yet unknown to his passion. For
every attempt which he had made to conquer his love
during the last few days had but increased it. Mile, de
Verneuil took pleasure in tormenting the young chief ; and
her glance, soft as velvet when it lit upon the count, became

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

319

dark and harsh when it chanced to meet the marquis's eyes.
Montauran seemed to make a painful effort, and said in a
choked voice :

" Will you not then forgive me ? "

" Love," she answered coldly, " pardons nothing, or
pardons all. But," she went on, seeing
him give a start of joy,

" it must be love- "

She had once more

-|rU«[illt

taken the count's arm, and passed

rapidly into a kind of boudoir, serving as antechamber to

the card-room. The marquis followed her.

" You shall hear me !" he cried.

" Sir," answered she, " you will make people believe that
I came here for your sake, and not out of self-respect. If
you do not cease this hateful persecution I must withdraw."

" Well then," said he, remembering one of the maddest
actions of the last Duke of Lorraine, " give me leave to
speak to you for the time only during which I can hold this

320 THE CHOUANS.

live coal in my hand." He stooped to the hearth picked up
a brand, and grasped it hard. Mile, de Verneuil's face
flushed ; she suddenly dropped the arm of the count (who
quietly retired, leaving the lovers alone), and stared in
wonder at Montauran. So mad an act had touched her
heart, for in love there is nothing more effective than a
piece of senseless courage.

" All that you prove by this," said she, as she tried to
make him throw the brand away, " is that you might give
me up to the most cruel tortures. You are always in
extremes. On the faith of a fool's word and a woman's
slander, you suspected her who had just saved your life of
being capable of selling you."

" Yes," said he with a smile, " I was cruel to you. For-
get it for ever : I shall never forget it. But listen. I was
abominably deceived : but so many circumstances during
that fatal day were against you."

" And were these circumstances enough to extinguish
your love ? "

As he hesitated to answer, she rose with a gesture of
scorn.

" Oh ! Marie, from this time I will believe none but
you !

" Throw away that fire, I tell you ! You are mad ! Open
your hand : I will have it ! "

He chose to oppose some resistance to his mistress's gentle
violence, in order to prolong the keen pleasure which he felt
in being closely pressed by her tiny caressing fingers. But
she at last succeeded in opening the hand, which she would
gladly have kissed. A flow of blood had quenched the
glowing wood.

" Now, what good did that do you ? " she said ; and
making a bandage of her handkerchief, she applied it to the
wound, which was not deep, and which the marquis quickly

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 321

covered with his glove. Madame du Gua had come on
tiptoe into the card-room, and cast furtive glances at the
lovers, whose eyes she adroitly escaped by leaning back
at their least movement. But she could not very easily
understand their conversation from what she saw of their
action.

"If all they told you of me were true, confess that I
should be well avenged at this moment," said Marie, with a
malicious air which turned the marquis pale.

" But what were the feelings, then, that brought you
here .'' "

" My dear boy, you are a very great coxcomb. Do you
really think that you can despise a woman like me with
impunity ? I came both for your sake and for my own,"
she went on after a pau.se, putting her hand to the cluster of
rubies which lay in the centre of her breast, and showing
him the blade of her dagger.

" What does all this mean ?" thought Madame du Gua.

"But," continued Marie, " you still love me — at any rate,
you still feel a desire for me, and the folly you have just
committed," said she, taking his hand, " has given me proof
of it. I have recovered the position I wished to hold, and I
can go away satisfied. He who loves is always sure of
pardon. For my part, I am loved : I have regained the
esteem of the man who is all the world to me : I can die ! "

" Then you love me still ? " said Montauran.

" Did I say so ?" she answered mockingly, and following
with joy the progress of the horrible torture which, at her
first coming, she had begun to apply to him. " Had I not
to make sacrifices in order to get here ? I saved M. de
Bauvan's life, and he, more grateful than you, has offered
me his name and fortune in exchange for my protection. It
did not occur to you to do that ! "

The marquis, aghast at the.se last words, checked the

T T

t

32 2 THE CHOUANS.

most violent access of wrath which he had yet suffered at
feeling himself duped by the count, but did not answer.

" Ah ! you are considering ! " she said, with a bitter smile.

" Mademoiselle," answered the young man, " your doubts
justify mine."

" Sir ! let us quit this room ! " cried Mile, de Verneuil, as
she saw the skirt of Madame du Gua's gown. And she
rose : but her wish to drive her rival desperate made her
linger.

"Do you wish to plunge me into hell ?" asked the mar-
quis, taking her hand and pressing it hard.

" Is it not five days since you plunged me there ? At this
very moment are you not leaving me in the cruellest un-
certainty whether your love is sincere or not ? "

" But how can I tell if you are not pushing your vengeance
to the point of making yourself mistress of my life, for the
purpose of tarnishing it, instead of planning my death ?"

"Ah! you do not love me! You think of yourself, not
of me ! " said she, furiously, and weeping, for the coquette
knew well the power of her eyes when they were drowned
in tears.

" Well, then," said he, no longer master of himself, " take
my life, but dry your tears ! "

"Oh! my love!" cried she in a stifled voice, "these are
the words, the tones, the looks that I waited for before
setting your happiness above my own. But, sir," she went
on, " I must ask you for a last proof of your affection, which
you say is so great. I will stay here no longer than is
necessary to make it thoroughly known that you are mine.
I would not even drink a glass of water in a house where
lives a woman who has twice tried to kill me, who is perhaps
now plotting some treason against us, and who at this very
moment is listening to our talk," said she, guiding the
marquis's eyes with her finger to the floating folds of Madame

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 323

du Gua's dress. Then she dried her tears, and .bent towards
the ear of the young chief, who shivered as he felt himself
caressed by her sweet moist breath.

" Get ready for our departure," said she. " You shall take
me back to F'ougeres, and there, and there only, you shall
know whether I love you or not. For the second time I
trust myself to you : will you trust yourself a second time
to me .'' "

" Ah, Marie! you have brought me to such a pass that I
know no more what I am doing. Your words, your looks,
yourself, have intoxicated me, and I am read) to do any-
thing you wish."

" Well, then ! make me for a moment quite happy. Let
me enjoy the only triumph I have longed for. I want to
breathe freely once, to live the life I have dreamed, and to
fill myself full of my dreams, before they vanish. Let us go
back : come and dance with me."

They returned together to the ball-room, and although
Mile, de Verneuil had received as complete and hearty a
.satisfaction of her vanity as ever woman could, the mysterious
sweetness of her eye.s, the delicate smile on her lips, the brisk
movement of a lively dance, kept the secret of her thoughts
as the sea keeps those of a murderer who drops into it a
heavy corpse. Nevertheless, the company uttered an ad-
miring murmur when she threw herself into the arms of her
lover for the waltz, and the two, voluptuously clasping
each other, with languishing eyes and drooping heads,
whirled round, clasping each other with a kind of frenzy
that showed what infinite pleasure they expected from a still
closer union.

"Count," said Madame du Gua to M. de Bauvan, "go
and find out if Pille-Miche is in camp: bring him to me:
and be certain that you shall obtain from me in return for
this slight service anything you wish, even my hand. My

324

THE CHOUANS.

vengeance," continued she to herself, as she saw him go off,
"will cost me dear: but this time I will not miss it."

A few moments later Mile, de Verneuil and the marquis
were seated in a berline horsed with four stout steeds.
Francine, surprised at finding the two supposed enemies
with clasped hands and on the best terms, sat speechless.

iUiM

and did not dare to ask
herself whether this was
treacher)- or love on her
mistress's part. Thanks
to the silence and to the
darkness of night, Montauran could not perceive Mile,
de Verneuil's agitation as she drew near Fougeres. At
length the feeble glimmer of dawn gave a far-off sight of the
steeple of Saint Leonard's, and at the same moment Marie
said to herself, " Death is near ! "

At the first rising ground the same thought occurred to
each of the lovers. They alighted from the carriage and
climbed the hill on foot, as though in remembrance of their
first meeting. When Marie had taken the marquis's arm
and walked a short distance, she thanked the young man
with a smile for having respected her silence. Then, as

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 325

they reached the crown of the hill whence Fougeres was
visible, she threw aside her reverie altogether.

" You must come no further," she said. " My power
wovild not again avail to save you from the Blues to-day."

Montauran looked at her with some surprise : she gave a
sad smile, pointed to a boulder as if bidding him sit down,
and herself remained standing in a melancholy posture.
The emotions which tore her soul no longer permitted her
to practice the artifices of which she had been so prodigal,
and for the moment she could have knelt on burning coals
without feeling them more than the marquis had felt the
lighted wood which he had grasped to attest the violence of
his passion. She gazed at her lover with a look full of the
profoundest grief before she said to him the appalling words :

" All your suspicions of me are true ! "

The marquis gave a sudden movement, but she said,
clasping her hands : " For pity's sake, hear me without
interruption. I am really and truly," she went on in a
faltering tone, " the daughter of the Duke de Verneuil, but
his natural daughter only. My mother, who was of the
house of Casteran, and who took the veil to escape the
sufferings which her family were preparing for her, atoned
for her fault by fifteen years of weeping, and died at Seez.
Only on her deathbed did the dear abbess address to the
man who had abandoned her an entreaty in my favour :
for she knew that I had neither friends, prospects, nor
fortune. This man, never forgotten under the roof of
Francine's mother, to whose care I had been committed,
had himself forgotten his child. Nevertheless, the duke re-
ceived me with pleasure, and acknowledged me because I
was beautiful ; perhaps, also, because I reminded him of his
youth. He was one of those graiids seigneurs who, in the
former reign, prided themselves on showing how a man may
procure pardon for a crime by committing it gratefully. I

326 THE C HO VANS.

will say no more : he was my father ! But permit me to
show you the evil effect which my sojourn at Paris could
not help producing on my mind. The society which the
Duke de Verneuil kept, and that to which he introduced me,
doted on the mocking philosophy which then charmed all
France, because it was the rule to make witty profession of
it. The brilliant talk which pleased my ear was recom-
mended by its ingenious observations, or by a neatly-turned
contempt of religion and of truth generally. As they
mocked certain feelings and thoughts, men drew them all
the better that they did not share them ; and they were as
agreeable by dint of their skill in epigram, as by the
sprightliness with which they could put a whole story in a
phrase. But they too often made the mistake of excessive
esprit, and wearied women by making love a business rather
than an affair of the heart. I made but a weak resistance
to this torrent. I had a soul (pardon my vanity !) sufficiently
full of passion to feel that esprit had withered all hearts :
i)ut the life which I then led had the result of bringing
about a perpetual conflict between my natural sentiments
and the vicious habits I had contracted. Some persons of
parts had delighted to foster in me that freedom of thought,
that contempt of public opinion, which deprive woman of
the modesty of soul that gives her half her charm. Alas !
adversity could not eradicate the faults which prosperity
had caused. My father," she continued, after heaving a sigh,
" the Duke de Verneuil, died after formally acknowledging
me, and making in my favour a will which considerably
diminished the fortune of my brother, his legitimate son
One morning I found myself without a shelter and without
a guardian. My brother contested the will which made me
a rich woman. Three years spent in a wealthy household
had developed my vanity, and my father, by gratifying my
every wish, had created in me a craving for luxury and

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 327

habits of indulgence, the tyranny of which my young and
simple mind did not comprehend. A friend of my father's,
the Marshal- Duke de Lenoncourt, who was seventy years
old, offered to be my guardian : I accepted, and a few
days after the beginning of the hateful lawsuit, I found
myself once more in a splendid establishment, where I
enjoyed all the advantages which my brother's cruelty had
refused me over my father's coffin. Every evening the
marshal spent some hours with me, and the old man spoke
all the time nothing but words of gentle consolation. His
whole air and the various touching proofs of paternal
tenderness which he gave me, seemed to guarantee that his
heart held no other sentiments than my own ; and I was
glad to think myself his daughter. I accepted the jewels
he offered me, and hid from him none of the fancies which
I found him so glad to satisfy. One evening I learnt that
the whole town thought me the poor old man's mistress. It
was demonstrated to me that it was out of my power to
regain the reputation for innocence of which society cause-
lessly robbed me. The man who had practised on my
inexperience could not be my lover and would not be my
husband. In the very same week in which I made the
hideous discovery — on the very eve of the day fixed for
my marriage with him (for I had insisted on bearing his
name, the only reparation he could make me) — he fled to
Coblentz. 1 was insultingly driven from the little house in
which the marshal had placed me, and which did not belong
to him. .So far I have told you the truth as if I were in
the presence of God himself, but from this point ask not, I
pray you, from a wretched girl, an exact account of the
miseries buried in her memory. One day, sir, I found my-
self united to Danton ! A few days later the huge oak
round which I had cast my arms was uprooted by the
storm. When I saw myself once more immersed in poverty

328 THE C HO VANS.

I made up my mind to die. I know not whether I was
unconsciously counselled by love of lite, by the hope of
wearing out my ill-luck and finding at the bottom of this
interminable abyss the happiness which fled my grasp, or
whether I was won over by the arguments of a young man
of Vendome, who for two years past has fastened himself on
me like a serpent on a tree, in the belief no doubt that some
extremity of misfortune may induce me to yield to him. In
fine, I cannot tell why I accepted the odious mission of
making myself beloved by a stranger whom I was to betray
for the price of three hundred thousand francs. I saw you,
sir, and I recognized you at once by one of those presenti-
ments which never deceive us ; yet I amused myself by
doubting : for the more I loved you, the more the conviction
of my love was terrible to me. Thus, in saving you from
the hands of Commandant Hulot, I threw up my part, and
resolved to deceive the executioners, and not their victim.
I was wrong to play thus with men's lives, with policy, and
with my own self, after the fashion of a careless girl who
sees nothing in the world but sentiment. I thought I was
loved, and in the hope of a new beginning of life I let my-
self drift. But all things, myself perhaps included, betrayed
my past excesses ; for you must have had your suspicions
of a woman so full of passion as I am. Alas ! can anyone
refuse pardon to my love, and my dissembling ? Yes, sir ! it
seemed to me that I was awaking from a long and painful
sleep, and that at my waking I found myself once more
sixteen. Was I not in Alengon, which was connected with
the chaste and pure memories of my youth 1 I was simple
enough, I was mad enough, to believe that love would give
me a baptism of innocence. For a moment I thought my-
self still a maid because I had never yet loved. But yesterday
evening your passion seemed to me a real passion, and a
voice asked me, 'Why deceive him?' Know then, lord

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

329

marquis," she continued in a deep tone, which seemed
proudly to challenge reprobation, " know it well that I am
but a creature without honour, unworthy of you. From
this moment I take up my part of wanton once more, weary
of playing- that of a woman to whom you had restored all
the chastities of the heart. Virtue is too heavy a load for
me ; and I should despise
you if you were weak
enough to wed me. A
Count de Bauvan might
commit a folly of that kind,
but you, sir, be worthy
of your own future, and
leave me without a regret.
The courtesan in me, look
you, would be too exacting ;
she would love you in ano-
ther fashion from that of
the simple innocent girl
who felt in her heart, for
one instant, the exquisite
hope of some day being

your companion, of making you ever happy, of doing
you honour, of becoming a noble and worthy wife to you ;
and who, from this sentiment, has drawn the courage to
revive her evil nature of vice and infamy, in order to set an
eternal barrier between you and herself To you I sacrifice
honour and fortune : my pride in this sacrifice will support
me in my misery, and fate may do with me as it will. I will
never give you up to them. I shall return to Paris, where
your name shall be to me as another self, and the splendid
distinction which you will give it will console me for all my

woes. As for you, you are a man ; )()u will forget me

Farewell ! "

u u

330 THE CHOUANS.

She darted away in the direction of the valleys of Saint
Sulpice, and disappeared before the marquis could rise to
stop her. But she doubled back on her steps, availed her-
self of a hollow rock as a hiding-place, raised her head,
scrutinized Montauran with a curiosity which was mingled
with doubt, and saw him walking he knew not whither, like
a man overwhelmed.

" Is he then but a weakling?" she .said, when he was lost
to sight, and she felt that they were parted. " Will he
understand me ? "

She shuddered : then she bent her steps suddenly and
rapidly towards Fougeres, at if she feared that the
marquis would follow to the town, where death awaited
him.

" Well, Francine, what did he say to you ? " she asked her
faithful Breton maid when they met again.

" Alas ! Marie, I pity him ! You great ladies make your
tongues daggers to stab men with."

" What did he look like, then, when he met you ?"

" Do you think he even saw me ? Oh, Marie, he loves

I "

you !

" Ah yes," answered she, " he loves me, or he loves me
not, — two words which mean heaven or hell to me. Be-
tween the extremes I see no middle space on which I can
set my foot."

Having thus worked out her terrible fate, Marie could
give herself up entirely to sorrow ; and the countenance
which she had kept up hitherto by a mixture of diverse
sentiments experienced so rapid a change that, after a day in
which she hovered unceasingly between presages of hap-
piness and forebodings of despair, she lost the fresh and
radiant beauty whose first cause lies either in the absence
of all passion or in the intoxication of happiness.

Curious to know the result pf her wild enterprise, Hulot

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 331

and Corentin had called upon Marie shortly after her arrival.
She received them with a smiling air.

" Well," said she to the commandant, whose anxious face
expressed considerable inquisitiveness, " the fox has come
back within range of your guns, and you will soon gain a
glorious victory ! "

" What has happened then ? " asked Corentin, carelessly,
but casting on Mile, de Verneuil one of the sidelong glances
by which diplomatists of this stamp spy out others'
thoughts.

" Why," she answered, " the Gars is more in love with
me than ever, and I made him come with us up to the very
gates of Fougeres."

"It would appear that your power ceased there," retorted
Corentin, " and that the ci-devant' s fear is stronger than the
love with which you inspired him."

Mile, de Verneuil threw a scornful look at Corentin.

" You judge him by yourself," answered she.

" Well," said he, without showing any emotion, " why did
you not bring him straight to us ? "

" If he really loves me, commandant,' said she to Hulot
with a malicious look, " would you never forgive me if I
saved him by taking him away from France ? "

The old soldier stepped briskly up to her, and .seized her
hand to kiss it, with a kind of enthusiasm. But then he
looked steadily at her and said, his face darkening :

" You forget my two friends and my sixty-three men ! "

"Ah! commandant," .she said, with all the nawetd of
passion, " that was not his fault. He was duped by a wicked
woman, Charette's mistress, who I believe would drink the
blood of the Blues."

" Come, Marie," said Corentin, " do not play tricks with
the commandant ; he does not understand your pleasantries
yet."

332

THE CHOUANS.

"Be silent," she answered, "and know that the day when
you become a little too repulsive to me will be your last."
" I see, mademoiselle," said Hulot without bitterness,

" that I must make ready

i ^.^ B

m

for battle."

" You are not
case to give it, my
dear colonel. At
Saint James I saw
that they had more
than six thousand
men, with regular
troops, artillery, and
Enirlish officers. Ikit

o

what would become
of all these folk with-
out him :' I hold with
Fouche, that his head
is everything."

"Well, shall we
have his head ? "
asked Corentin, out
of patience.

" I don't know,"
', said she carelessly.

"English !" cried
Hulot angrily ; " that was
the only thing wanting to
make him out and out a brigand! Ah, I'll English
you, I will ! " But he added to Corentin, when they were
a little distance from the house, "It would appear, citizen
diplomatist, that you let yourself be routed at regular inter-
vals by that girl."

"It is very natural, citizen commandant," answered Co-

A DA\ WITHOUT A MORROW. 333

rentin thoughtfully, " that you should not have known what
to make of all she said to us. You military gentlemen do not
perceive that there are more ways of making war than one.
To make cunning use of the passions of men and women,
as though they were springs worked upon for the benefit of
the state, to adjust all the wheels in the mighty machine
which we call a government, to take delight in shutting up
in it the most refractory sentiments like catch-springs, to be
watched over for amusement, — is not this to be an actual
creator, and to put oneself like God at the centre of the
universe ? "

" You will be good enough to let me prefer my trade to
yours," replied the soldier drily. " You may do what you like
with your machinery, but I acknowledge no other superior
than the Minister of War. I have my orders : 1 shall begin
my operations with fellows who will not sulk or shirk, and
I shall meet in front the foe whom you want to steal on from
behind."

" Oh, you can get into marching order if you like,"
answered Corentin. " From what the girl lets me guess,
enigmatic as she seems to you, you will have some skir-
mishing, and I shall procure you before long the pleasure of
a tete-a-tete with the brigand chief."

" How so?" said Hulot, stepping back to get a better
view of this strange personage.

" Mile, de Verneuil loves the Gars," said Corentin, in a
stifled voice, " and perhaps he loves her. A marquis, with
the red ribbon, young, able, perhaps even (for who knows)
still rich — there are sufficient temptations for you. She
would be a fool not to fight for her own hand, and try to marry
him rather than give him up. She is trying to throw dust
in our eyes; but I read in her own some irresolution. In
all probability the two lovers will have an assignation, per-
haps it is already arranged. Well then, to-morrow I shall

334 THE C HO VANS.

have my man fast ! Hitherto he has only been the RepubHc's
enemy ; a few minutes since he became mine. Now,
every man who has taken a fancy to get between me and
that girl has died on the scaffold."

When he had finished Corentin fell back into a study,
which prevented him from seeing the intense di.sgust depicted
on the countenance of the generous soldier, as he fathomed
the depth of the intrigue and the working of the engines
employed by Fouche. And so Hulot made up his mind
to thwart Corentin in every point not absolutely hurtful to
the success and the objects of the government, and to give
the Republic's foe the chance of dying with honour and
sword in hand before becoming the prey of the executioner,
whose jackal this agent of the superior police avowed himself
to be.

" If the First Consul would listen to me," said he to him-
self, turning his back on Corentin, " he would let these foxes
and the aristocrats, who are worthy of each other, fight it
out between them, and employ soldiers on very different
business."

Corentin on his side looked coolly at the soldier (whose
face had now betrayed his thoughts), and his eyes recovered
the sardonic expression which showed the superior intelli-
gence of this subaltern Machiavel.

" Give three yards of blue cloth to brutes of this kind,"
thought he, "stick a piece of iron by their sides, and they
will fancy that in politics there is only one proper way of
killing a man." He paced up and down slowly for a few
moments ; then he said to himself suddenly : " Yes ! the
hour is come. The woman shall be mine ! For five years the
circle I have drawn round her has narrowed, little by little.
I have her now, and with her help I will climb as high in
the government as Fouch^. Yes ! let her lose the one
man she has loved, and grief ^ will give her to me body and

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

335

soul. It only remains to watch night and day in order to
discover her secret."

A minute later an observer might have descried Corentin's
pale face across the window panes of a house wlience he
could inspectevery
living thing that
entered the cul-
de-sac formed by
the row of houses
running parallel
to Saint Leonard's
Church. With the
patience of a cat
watching a mouse,
Corentin was still,
on the morning
of the next day,
giving heed to the
least noise, and se-
verely scrutinizing
every passer-by.
The day then be-
ginning was a
market day. Al-
though in these

unfortunate times the peasants were with difficulty induced
to risk themselves in the town, Corentin saw a man of
a gloomy countenance, dressed in a goatskin, and carrying
on his arm a small round flat basket, who was making
his way towards Mile, de Verneuil's house, after casting
round him glances indifferent enough. Corentin went
downstairs, intending to wait for the peasant when he
came out ; but suddenly it occurred to him that if he could
make a sudden appearance at Mile, de Verneuil's he might

-»-U...II.

336 THE CHOUANS.

perhaps surprise at a single glance the secrets hid in the
messenger's basket. Besides, common fame had taught
him that it was almost impossible to get the better of the
impenetrable answers of Bretons and Normans.

"Galope-Chopine !" cried Mile, de Verneuii, when Fran-
cine ushered in the Chouan. " Can it be that I am loved ? "
she added in a whisper to herself.

An instinct of hope shed the brightest hues over her
complexion, and diffused joy throughout her heart. Galope-
Chopine looked from the mistress of the house to Francine,
his glances at the latter being full of mistrust ; but a gesture
from Mile, de Verneuii reassured him.

" Madame," said he, " towards the stroke of two he will
be at my house, and will wait for you there."

Her emotions allowed Mile, de Verneuii to make no other
reply than an inclination of the head, but a Samoyede could
have understood the full meaning of this. At the very .same
moment the steps of Corentin echoed in the saloon. Galope-
Chopine did not disturb himself in the least when Mile, de
Verneuil's start and her looks at once showed him a danger-
signal : and as soon as the spy exhibited his cunning face,
the Chouan raised his voice ear-piercingly :

" Oh, yes ! " said he to Francine, " there is Breton butter
and Breton butter. You want Gibarry butter, and you will
only give eleven sous the pound. You ought not to have
sent for me. That is good butter, that is ! " said he, opening
his basket and showing two little pats of butter of Barbette's
making. " You must pay a fair price, good lady. Come,
let us say another sou !"

His hollow voice showed not the least anxiety, and his
green eyes, shaded by thick grizzly eyebrows, bore without
flinching Corentin's piercing gaze.

" Come, good fellow, hold your tongue. You did not
come here to sell butter; for, you are dealing with a lady

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 337

who never cheapened anything in her life. Your business,
old boy, is one which will make you a head shorter some
day ! " And Corentin, with a friendly clap on the shoulder,
added, " You can't go on long serving both Chouans and
Blues."

Galope-Chopine had need of all his presence of mind to
gulp down his wrath without denying this charge, which,
owing to his avarice, was a true one. He contented him-
self with replying :

" The gentleman is pleased to be merrj' "

Corentin had turned his back on the Chouan, but in the
act of saluting Mile, de Verneuil, whose heart was in her
mouth, he was easily able to keep an eye on him in the
mirror. Galope-Chopine, who thought himself out of the
spy's sight, questioned Francine with a look, and Francine
pointed to the door, saying : " Come with me, good man,
we .shall come to terms, no doubt."

Nothing had escaped Corentin, neither the tightened lips
which Mile, de Verneuil's smile hid but ill, nor her blush,
nor her altered expre.ssion, nor the Chouan's anxiety, nor
Francine's gesture. He had seen it all ; and, convinced
that Galope-Chopine was an emissary of the marquis, he
stopped him as he was going out by catching hold of the
long hair of his goatskin, brought him in front of himself,
and looked straight at him, saying :

" Where do you live, good friend ? / want some butter."

" Good gentleman," answered the Chouan, " all Fougeres
knows where I live. I am, as you may say "

" Corentin ! " cried Mile, de Verneuil, interrupting Galope-
Chopine's answer, " you are very forward to pay me visits
at this hour, and to catch me like this, scarcely dressed.
Let the peasant alone. He does not understand your
tricks any more than I understand their object. Go, good
fellow." ,

X X

338

THE CHOUANS.

Galope-Chopine hesitated for a moment before going.
His irresolution, whether it were real or feigned, as of a
poor wretch who did not know which of the two to obey,
had already begun to impose on Corentin, when the Chouan,
at a commanding signal from the young lady, departed with
heavy steps. Mile, de Verneuil and Corentin gazed at each
other in silence : and this time Marie's clear eyes could not

7L^^

+U.:,II.

endure the blaze of dry light which poured from the man's
looks. The air of resolve with which the spy had entered
the room, an expression on his face which was strange to
Marie, the dull sound of his squeaky voice, his attitude, — all
alarmed her : she understood that a secret struggle was
beginning between them, and that he was straining all the
power of his sinister influence against her. But if at the
moment she caught a full and distinct view of the abyss
towards which she was iiastening, she drew from her love
strength to shake off the icy chill of her presentiments.

"Corentin !" she said, merrily enough, " I hope you will
be good enough to allow me to finish my toilette."

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 339

" Marie," said he — " yes, give me leave to call you so —
you do not know me yet. Listen ! a less "sharp-sighted
man than myself would have already discovered your aftec-
tion for the Marquis of Montauran. I have again and again
offered you my heart antl my hand. You did not think
me worthy of you, and perhaps you were right. But ii you
think your station too lofty, your beauty or your mind too
great for me, I can find means to draw you down to my
level. My ambition and my precepts have not inspired you
with much esteem for me : and here, to speak frankly, you
are wrong. Men as a rule are not worth even my estimate
of them, which is ne.xt to nothing. I shall attain of a
certainty to a high position, the honours of which will please
you. Who can love you better, who can make you more
completely mistress of himself than the man who has already
loved you for five years ? Although 1 run the risk of seeing
you conceive an unfavourable idea of me (for you do not
believe it possible to renounce the person one adores through
mere excess of love), I will give you the measure of the dis-
interestedness of my affection for you. Do not shake your
pretty head in that way. If the marquis loves you, marry
him : but make yourself quite sure first of his sincerity. I
should be in despair if 1 knew you had been deceived : for
I prefer your happiness to my own. My resolution may
surprise you ; but pray attribute it to nothing but the
common sense of a man who is not fool enough to wish to
possess a woman against her will. And so it is myself and
not you whom I hold guilty of the uselessness of my efforts.
I hoped to gain you by force of submission and devotion,
for, as you know, I have long sought to make you happy
after my own fashion, but you have never chosen to reward
me in any way."

" I have endured your company," she said haughtily.

" Add that you are sorry for having done so."

340 THE CHOUANS.

" After the disgraceful plot in which you have entangled
me, must I still thank you ? "

" When I suggested to you an enterprise which was not
blameless in the eyes of timid souls," answered he boldly,
" I had nothing but your good fortune in view. For my
own part, whether I win or fail, I shall find means of making
either result useful to the success of my designs. If you
married Montauran, I should be charmed to do yeoman's
service to the Bourbon cause at Paris, where I belong to
the Clichy Club. Any incident which put me in communi-
cation with the princes would decide me to abandon the
interests of a Republic which is rapidly hastening to its
decline and fall. General Bonaparte is too clever not to
feel that he cannot be in Germany, in Italy, and here, where
the Revolution is succumbing, all at once. It is pretty clear
that he brought about the i8th Brumaire only to stand on
better terms with the Bourbons in treating with them concern-
ing France, for he is a fellow with his wits about him, and with
foresight enough. But men of policy must anticipate him
on his own road. A scruple about betraying France is but
one more of those which we men of parts leave to fools. I
will not hide from you that I have all necessary powers for
treating with the Chouan chiefs as well as for arranging their
ruin. My patron, Fouche, is deep enough, and has always
played a double game. During the Terror he was at once
for Robespierre and for Danton "

" Whom you basely deserted," said she.

" Nonsense !" answered Corentin. "He is dead: think
not of him. Come ! speak to me frankly, since I have set
you the example. This demi-brigadier is sharper than he
looks, and if you wish to outwit his vigilance I might be of
some service to you. Remember that he has filled the
valleys with Counter-Chouans, and would quickly get wind
of your rendezvous. If yoy stay here under his eyes you

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 341

are at the mercy of his pohce. Only see how quickly he
found out that this Chouan was in your house ! Must not
his sagacity as a soldier show him that your least movements
will be a tell-tale to him of those of the marquis, if the
marquis loves you ? "

Mile, de Verneuil had never heard a voice so gently
affectionate. Corentin seemed to speak in entire good faith
and full trust. The poor girl's heart was so susceptible to
generous impressions that she was on the point of yielding
her secret to the serpent who was winding his coils
round her. But she bethought her that there was no
proof of the sincerity of this artful language, and so she
had no scruple in duping him who was acting the spy on
her.

" Well, Corentin," said she, " you have guessed aright.
Yes, 1 love the marquis, but he loves not me. At least, I
fear it, for the rendezvous which he has given me seems to
hide some trap."

" But," said Corentin, " you told us yesterday that he had
accompanied you to Fougeres. Had he wished to use
violence towards you you would not be here. '

" Corentin, your heart is seared. You can calculate scien-
tifically on the course of human life in general, and yet not
on those of a single passion. Perhaps this is the reason of
the constant repulsion I feel for you. But since you are so
perspicacious, try to guess why a man from whom I parted
roughly the day before yesterday is impatiently expecting
me to-day on the Mayenne road, in a house at Florigny,
towards evening."

At this confession, which seemed to have escaped her in
a moment of excitement natural enough to a creature so
frank and so passionate, Corentin flushed ; for he was still
young. He cast sideways on her one of those piercing
glances which quest for the soul. Mile, de Verneuil's

342 THE CHOUANS.

naivetd was so well feigned that she deceived the spy, and
he answered with artificial good-nature :

" Would you like me to accompany you at a distance ?
I would take some disguised soldiers with me, and we should
be at your orders."

" Agreed," she said ; "but promise me on your honour —
ah, no ! I do not believe in that ; on your salvation — but
you do not believe in God ; on your soul — but, perhaps, you
have none. What guarantee of fidelity can you give me ?
Still, I will trust you, and I put in your hands what is more
than my life — either my vengeance or my love ! "

The faint smile which appeared on Corentin's pale
countenance acquainted Mile, de Verneuil with the danger
she had just avoided. The agent, his nostrils contracting
instead of dilating, took his victim's hand, kissed it with
marks of the deepest respect, and left her with a bow, which
was not devoid of elegance. Three hours after this inter-
view Mile, de Verneuil, who feared Corentin's return, slipped
furtively out of the gate of Saint Leonard, and gained the
little path of the Nid-aux-Crocs, leading to the Nan^on
valley. She thought herself safe as she passed unnoticed
through the labyrinth of tracks leading to Galope-Chopine's
cabin, whither she advanced gaily, led by the hope of at last
finding happiness, and by the desire of extricating her lover
from his threatened fate. Meanwhile Corentin was engaged
in hunting for the commandant. It was with difficulty that
he recognized Hulot, when he found him in a small open
space, where he was busy with some military preparations.
The brave veteran had indeed made a sacrifice, the merit of
which can hardly be put sufficiently high. His pigtail and
his moustaches were shaved, and his hair, arranged like a
priest's, had a dash of powder. Shod with great hobnailed
shoes, his old blue uniform and his sword exchanged for a
goatskin, a belt garnished with pistols, and a heavy rifle,

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 343

he was inspecting two hundred men of Fougeres, whose
dress might have deceived the eyes of the most experienced
Chouan. The wadike spirit of the little town and the
Breton character were both exhibited in this scene, which
was not the first of its kind. Here and there mothers and
sisters were bringing to their sons and brothers brandy-
flasks or pistols which had been forgotten. More than one
old man was examining the number and goodness of the
cartridges carried by these National Guards, who were dis-
guised as Counter-Chouans, and whose cheerfulness seemed
rather to indicate a hunting-party than a dangerous ex-
pedition. F"or them, the skirmishes of the Chouan war,
where the Bretons of the towns fought with the Bretons of
the country, seemed to have taken the place of the tourneys
of chivalry. This patriotic enthusiasm perhaps owed its
origin to the acquisition of some of the confiscated property ;
but much of its ardour was also due to the better apprecia-
tion of the benefits of the Revolution which existed in the
towns, to party fidelity, and to a certain love of war,
characteristic of the race. Hulot was struck with admiration
as he went through the ranks asking information from
Gudin, on whom he had bestowed all the friendly feeling
which had formerly been allotted to Merle and Gerard. A
considerable number of the townsmen were spectators of
the preparations for the expedition, and were able to com-
pare the bearing of their noisy comrades with that of a
battalion of Hulot's demi-brigade. The Blues, motionless,
in faultless line and silent, waited for the orders of the
commandant, whom the eyes of each soldier followed as he
went from group to group. When he came up to the old
officer, Corentin could not help smiling at the change in
Hulot's appearance. He looked like a portrait which has
lost its resemblance to the original.

" What is up ? " asked Corentin of him.

344 THE CHOUANS.

" Come and fire a shot with us, and you will know,"
answered the commandant.

" Oh ! I am not a Fougeres man," replied Corentin.

" We can all see that, citizen," said Gudin ; and some
mocking laughter came from the neighbouring groups.

" Do you think," retorted Corentin, " that there is no way
of saving France but with bayonets ? " and he turned his
back on the laughers, and addressed himself to a woman
in order to learn the purpose and destination of this ex-
pedition.

" Alas ! good sir, the Chouans are already at Florigny.
'Tis said that there are more than three thousand of them,
and that they are coming to take Fougeres."

"Florigny!" cried Corentin, growing pale; "then that
cannot be the meeting-place ! Do you mean," he went on,
" Florigny on the Mayenne road ? "

" There are not two Florignys," answered the woman,
pointing to the road which ended at the top of the Pilgrim.

" Are you going after the Marquis of Montauran ?" asked
Corentin of the commandant.

" Rather," answered Hulot roughly.

" He is not at Florigny," replied Corentin. " Send your
battalion and the National Guards thither, but keep some
of your Counter-Chouans with yourself, and wait for me."

" He is too sly to be mad," cried the commandant, as he
saw Corentin stride hastily off. " 'Tis certainly the king of
spies."

At the same time he gave his battalion the order to
march, and the Republican soldiers went silently, and with-
out beat of drum, through the narrow suburb which leads
to the Mayenne road, marking against the houses and the
trees a long line of blue and red. The disguised National
Guards followed them, but Hulot remained in the little
square with Gudin and a score of picked young townsmen

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 345

waiting for Corentin, whose air of mystery had excited his
curiosity. Francine herself told the wary spy of the de-
parture of Mile, de Verneuil ; all his suspicions at once
became certainties, and he went forth to gain new light on
this deservedly questionable absence. Learning from the
guard at the Porte Saint Leonard that the fair stranger had
passed by the Nid-aux-Crocs, Corentin ran to the Walks,
and, as ill-luck would have it, reached them just in time to
perceive all Marie's movements. Although she had put on
a gown and hood of green in order to be less conspicuous,
the quick motion of her almost frenzied steps showed
clearly enough, through the leafless and hoar-frosted hedges,
the direction of her journey.

" Ah ! " cried he, " you ought to be making for Florigny,
and you are going down towards the valley of Gibarry ! I
am but a simpleton : she has duped me. But patience ! I
can light my lamp by day as well as by night." And then,
having pretty nearly guessed the place of the lovers' assigna-
tion, he ran to the square at the very moment when Hulot
was about to quit it and follow up his troops.

" Halt, general ! " he cried to the commandant, who turned
back.

In a moment Corentin had acquainted the soldier with
incidents, the connecting web of which, though hid, had
allowed some of its threads to appear : and Hulot, struck
by the agent's shrewdness, clutched his arm briskly.

" A thousand thunders ! Citizen Inquisitive, you are right !
The brigands are making a feint down there ! The two flying
columns that I sent to beat the neighbourhood between the
Antrain and the Vitre roads have not come back yet, and
so we shall find in the country reinforcements which will be
useful, for the Gars is not fool enough to risk himself with-
out his cursed screech-owls at hand. Gudin ! " said he to
the young Fougeres man, " run and tell Captain Lebrun

y Y

346 THE C HO VANS.

that he can do without me in drubbing the brigands at
Florigny, and then come back in no time. You know the
by-paths : I shall wait for you to hunt up the ci-dcvant and
avenge the murders at the Vivetiere. God's thunder ! How
he runs ! " added he, looking at Gudin, who vanished as if
by magic. "Would not Gerard have loved the boy !"

When he came back, Gudin found Hulot's little force
increased by some soldiers drawn from the various guard-
houses of the town. The commandant bade the young
man pick out a dozen of his fellow-townsmen who had
most experience in the difficult business of counterfeiting
the Chouans, and ordered him to make his way by Saint
Leonard's Gate, so as to take the route to the rear of the
heights of Saint Sulpice facing the great valley of the Coues-
non, where was the cottage of Galope-Chopine. Then he
put himself at the head of the rest of the force, and left by
the Porte Saint Sulpice, meaning to gain the crest of the
hills where he, according to his plans, expected to meet Beau-
Pied and his men. With these he intended to strengthen
a cordon of sentries whose business was to watch the
rocks from the Faubourg Saint Sulpice to the Nid-aux-
Crocs. Corentin, confident that he had placed the fate of
the Chouan chief in the hands of his most implacable ene-
mies, went rapidly to the Promenade in order to get a better
view of Hulot's dispositions as a whole. It was not long
before he saw Gudin's little party debouching by the
Nan^on dale, and following the rocks along the side of
the great Couesnon Valley : while Hulot, slipping out'
along the Castle of Fougeres, climbed the dangerous path
which led to the crest of the Saint Sulpice crags. In this
manner the two parties were working on parallel lines.
The trees and bushes, richly arabesqued by the hoar-frost,

' The word used, debusquant, is the technical sporting term for a wolf
leaving its lair. — Translator's Note. '

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

347

threw over the country a white gleam against which it was
easy to see the two detachments moving hke grey Hnes.

As soon as he had
'1^, :.±. -'^^-, arrived at the

table-land on the
top of the rocks,
Hulot separa-
ted from his
force all those
soldiers who
were in uni-
form : and
Corentin saw
them, under
the skilful
orders of

the commandant,
drawing up a line
of perambulating "
sentinels, parted
each from each by
a suitable space ;
the first was to be in
touch with Gudin and
the last with Hulot, so
that not so much as a
bush could escape the bayo-
nets of these three moving
lines who were about to track down the Gars across the
hills and fields.

" He is cunning, the old watch-dog ! " cried Corentin, as
he lost sight of the last flashes of the gun-barrels amid the

348 THE C HO VANS.

ajoncs. " The Gars's goose is cooked ! If Marie had be-
trayed this d d marquis, she and I should have been

united by the firmest of all ties, that of disgrace. But all
the same, she shall be mine ! "

The twelve young men of Fougeres, led by Sub-lieutenant
Gudin, soon gained the slope where the Saint Sulpice crags
sink down in smaller hills to the Valley of Gibarry. Gudin,
for his part, left the roads, and jumped lightly over the bar
of the first broom-field he came to, being followed by six of
his fellows ; the others, by his orders, made their way into
the fields towards the right, so as to beat the ground on
each side of the road. Gudin darted briskly towards an
apple-tree which stood in the midst of the broom. At the
rustle made by the march of the six counter-Chouans, whom
he led across this broom forest, trying not to disturb its
frosted tufts, seven or eight men, at whose head was Beau-
Pied, hid themselves behind some chestnut trees which
crowned the hedge of the field. Despite the white gleam
which lighted up the country, and despite their own sharp
eyesight, the Fougeres party did not at first perceive the
others, who had sheltered themselves behind the trees.

"Hist! Here they are!" said Beau-Pied, the first to raise his
head, " the brigands have got in front of us : but as we have
got them at the end of our guns, don't let us miss them, or,
by Jove ! we shan't deserve to be even the Pope's soldiers ! "

However, Gudin's piercing eyes had at last noticed certain
gun-barrels levelled at his little party. At the same moment,
with a bitter mockery, eight deep voices cried " Qtn vine f "
and eieht orunshots followed. The balls whistled round the
counter-Chouans, of whom one received a wound in the
arm, and another fell. The five men of Fougeres, who re-
mained unhurt, answered with a volley, shouting, " Friends ! "
Then they rushed upon their supposed enemies so as to close
with them before they could reload.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 349

" We did not know we spoke so much truth ! " cried the
young sub-lieutenant, as he recognized the uniform and the
battered hats of his own demi-brigade. " We have done
like true Bretons — fought first, and asked questions after-
wards."

The eight soldiers stood astounded as they recognized
Gudin. " Confound it, sir ! Who the devil would not
have taken you for brigands with your goatskins ? " cried
Beau-Pied mournfully.

" It is a piece of ill luck, and nobody is to blame, since
you had no notice that our counter-Chouans were going to
make a sally. But what have you been doing ? "

" We are hunting a dozen Chouans, sir, who are amusing
themselves by breaking our backs. We have been running
like poisoned rats : and what with jumping over these bars
and hedges (may thunder confound them !) our legs are
worn out, and we were taking a rest. I think the brigands
must be now somewhere about the hut where you see the
smoke rising."

" Good ! " cried Gudin. " Fall back," added he to Beau-
Pied and his eight men, " across the fields to the Saint
Sulpice rocks, and support the line of sentries that the
commandant has posted there. You must not stay with
us because you are in uniform. Odds cartridges ! We are
trying to get hold of the dogs, for the Gars is among them.
Your comrades will tell you more than I can. File to the
right, and don't pull trigger on six others of our goatskins
that you may meet ! You will know our counter-Chouans
by their neckerchiefs, which are coiled round without a
knot"

Gudin deposited his two wounded men under the apple-
tree, and continued his way to Galope-Chopine's house,
which Beau- Pied had just pointed out to him, and the
smoke of which served as a landmark. While the young

3SO

THE C HO VANS.

officer had thus got on the track of the Chouans by a col-
lision common enough in this war, but which might have
had more fatal results, the little detachment which Hulot
himself commanded had reached on its own line of opera-
tions a point parallel to that at which Gudin had arrived
on his. The old soldier at the head of his counter-Chouans
slipped silently among the hedges with all the eagerness of

a young man, and jumped
the bars with sufficient
agility, directing his rest-
less eyes to all the points
that commanded them, and
pricking up his ears like a
hunter at the least noise.
In the third field which
he entered he perceived
a woman, some thirty
years old, busy in hoeing
the soil, and working
^ hard in a stooping pos-

ture ; while a little boy,
about seven or eight years old, armed with a bill-hook,
was shaking rime off some ajoncs which had sprung up here
and there, cutting them down, and piling them in heaps.
At the noise which Hulot made in alighting heavily across
the bar, the little gars and his mother raised their heads.
Hulot naturally enough mistook the woman, young as she
was, for a crone. Premature wrinkles furrowed her forehead
and neck, and she was so oddly clothed in a worn goatskin,
that had it not been that her sex was indicated by a dirty
yellow linen gown Hulot would not have known whether she
was man or woman, for her long black tresses were hidden
under a red woollen nightcap. The rags in which the small
boy was clothed, after a fashion, showed his skin through them.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

351

" Hullo, old woman ! " said Hulot in a lowered voice to
her as he drew near, " where is the Gars ? " At the same
moment the score of counter- Chouans who followed him
crossed the boundary of the field.

jrfj?'

" Oh ! to get to the Gars you must go back the way you
came," answered the woman, after casting a distrustful
glance on the party.

" Did I ask you the way to the suburb of the Gars at
Fougeres, old bag of bones.''" replied Hulot roughly,
" Saint Anne of Auray ! Have you seen the Gars pass ? "

" I do not know what you mean," said the woman, bend-
ing down to continue her work.

" D d garce that you are ! Do you want the Blues,

who are after us, to gobble us up ? " cried Hulot.

At these words the woman lifted herself up and cast another

352 THE CHOUANS.

suspicious look at the counter-Chouans as she answered,
" How can the Blues be after you ? I saw seven or eight of
them just now going back to Fougeres by the road down
there."

" Would not a man say that she looks like biting us ? "
said Hulot. " Look there, old Nanny ! "

And the commandant pointed out to her, some fifty paces
behind, three or four of his sentinels, whose uniforms and
guns were unmistakable.

" Do you want to have our throats cut, when Marche-a-
Terre has sent us to help the Gars, whom the men of
Fougeres are trying to catch ? " he went on angrily.

" Your pardon," answered the woman, " but one is so easily
deceived ! What parish do you come from ? " asked she.

" From Saint George ! " cried two or three of the men
of Fougeres in Low Breton, " and we are dying of hunger ! "

" Well, then, look here," said the woman, " do you see
that smoke there ? that is my house. If you take the paths
on the right and keep up, you will get there. Perhaps you
will meet my husband by the way — Galope-Chopine has got
to stand sentinel to warn the Gars : for you know he is
coming to our house to-day," added she, with pride.

" Thanks, good woman," answered Hulot. " Forward,
men ! By God's thunder ! " added he, speaking to his
followers, " we have got him ! "

At these words the detachment, breaking into a run,
followed the commandant, who plunged into the path
pointed out to him. When she heard the self-styled
Chouan's by no means Catholic imprecation, Galope-Cho-
pine's wife turned pale. She looked at the gaiters and goat-
skins of the Fougeres youth, sat down on the ground,
clasped her child in her arms, and said :

" The Holy Virgin of Auray and the blessed Saint Labre
have mercy upon us ! I do ^ not believe that they are our

A DAY WITHOUT A MO R HOW. 353

folk : their shoes have no nails ! Run by the lower road
to warn your father ; his head is at stake ! " ishe said to
the little boy, who disappeared like a fawn through the
broom and the ajoncs.

Mile, de Verneuil, however, had not met on her way any
of the parties of Blues or Chouans who were hunting each
other in the maze of fields that lay round Galope-Chopine's
cottage. When she saw a bluish column rising from the
half-shattered chimney of the wretched dwelling, her heart
underwent one of those violent palpitations, the quick and
sounding throbs of which seem to surge up to the throat.
She stopped, leant her hand against a tree-branch, and
stared at the smoke which was to be a beacon at once to
the friends and enemies of the young chief. Never had
she felt such overpowering emotion.

" Oh ! " she said to herself with a sort of despair, " I love
him too much ! It may be I shall lose command of myself
to-day ! "

Suddenly she crossed the space which separated her from
the cottage, and found herself in the yard, the mud of which
had been hardened by the frost. The great dog once more
flew at her, barking ; but at a single word pronounced by
Galope-Chopine he held his tongue and wagged his tail.
As she entered the cabin Mile, de Verneuil threw into it an
all-embracing glance. The marquis was not there : and
Marie breathed more freely. She observed with pleasure
that the Chouan had exerted himself to restore some clean-
liness to the dirty single chamber of his lair. Galope-
Chopine grasped his duck-gun, bowed silently to his guest,
and went out with his dog. She followed him to the door-
step, and saw him departing by the path which went to the
right of his hut, and the entrance of which was guarded by
a large rotten tree, which served as an ichalicr, though one
almost in ruins. Thence she could perceive a range of

z z

354 TiiR CHOUANS.

fields, the bars of which showed like a vista of gates, for
the trees and hedges, stripped bare, allowed full view of
the least details of the landscape. When Galope-Chopine's
broad hat had suddenly disappeared, Mile, de Verneuil turned
to the left to look for the church of Fougeres, but the out-
house hid it from her wholly. Then she cast her eyes
on the Couesnon valley, lying before them like a huge
sheet of muslin, whose whiteness dulled yet further a sky
grey-tinted and loaded with snow. It was one of those
days when nature seems speechless, and when the atmo-
sphere sucks up all noises. Thus, though the Blues and
their counter-Chouans were marching on the hut in three
lines, forming a triangle, which they contracted as they came
nearer, the silence was so profound that Mile, de Verneuil
felt oppressed by surroundings which added to her mental
anguish a kind of physical sadness. There was ill-fortune
in the air. At last, at the point where a little curtain of
wood terminated the vista of cchaliei'S, she saw a young
man leaping the barriers like a squirrel, and running with
astonishing speed.

" 'Tis he ! " she said to herself.

The Gars, dressed plainly like a Chouan, carried his
blunderbuss slung behind his goatskin, and, but for the
elegance of his movements, would have been unrecogniz-
able. Marie retired hurriedly into the cabin in obedience
to one of those instinctive resolves which are as little explic-
able as fear. But it was not long before the young chief
stood, only a step from her, in front of the chimney, where
burnt a clear and crackling fire. Both found themselves
speechless, and dreaded to look at each other or even to
move. One hope united their thoughts, one doubt parted
them. It was anguish and rapture at once.

" Sir!" said Mile, de Verneuil at last, in a broken voice,
" anxiety for your safety aloqe has brought me hither."

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROIV.

555

" My safety ?" he asked bitterly.

" Yes ! " she answered. " So long as I stay at Fougeres
your life is in danger: and I love you too well not to depart
this evening. Therefore seek me no more."

W/M^^i^'WWWM'?'

" Depart, beloved angel ? I will follow you ! "

" Follow me ? Can you think of such a thing? And the

Blues .? "

" Why, dearest Marie, what have the Blues to do with our

love ? "

3S6 THE CHOUANS.

"It seems to me difficult for you to stay in France near
me, and more difficult still for you to leave it with me."

" Is there such a thing as the impossible to a good
lover ? "

" Yes ! I believe that everything is possible. Had /
not courage enough to give you up for your own sake ? "

" What ! You gave yourself to a horrible creature whom
you did not love, and you will not grant happiness to a man
who adores you, whose whole life you fill, who swears to
you to be for ever only yours ? Listen, Marie; do you
love me ? "

" Yes," she said.

" Well then, be mine ! "

" Have you forgotten that I have resumed the base part
of a courtesan, and that it is you who must be mine .'* If I
have determined to fly, it is that I may not let the contempt
which I may incur fall on your head. Were it not for this
fear I might "

" But if I fear nothing ? "

" Who will guarantee me that ? I am mistrustful. And
in my situation who would not be so ? If the love that we
inspire be not lasting, at least it should be complete, so as to
make us support the world's injustice with joy. What have
you done for me ? You desire me. Do you think that
exalts you very high above those who have seen me before ?
Have you risked your Chouans for an hour of rapture as
carelessly as I dismissed the remembrance of the massa-
cred Blues when all was lost for me ? Suppose I bade you
renounce all your principles, all your hopes, your king who
stands in my way, and who very likely will make mock of
you when you have laid down your life for him, while I
would die for you with a sacred devotion ? Suppose I
would have you send your submission to the First Consul,
so that you might be able to, follow me to Paris ? Suppose

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 357

I insisted that we should go to America to Hve, far from a
world where all is vanity, that I might know whether you
really love me for myself as at this moment I love you ?
In one word, suppose I tried to make you fall to my level
instead of raising myself to yours, what would you do ? "

" Hush, Marie ! Do not slander yourself. Poor child, I
have found you out. Even as my first desire transformed
itself into passion, .so my passion has transformed itself into
love. I know, dearest soul of my soul, that you are noble
as your name, great as you are beautiful. And I myself
am noble enough and feel myself great enough to force the
world to receive you. Is it becau.se I foresee unheard of
and incessant delights with you ? Is it because I seem to
recognize in your soul that precious quality which keeps us
ever constant to one woman ? I know not the cause : but
my love is boundless, and I feel that 1 cannot live without
you — that my life, if you were not near me, would be full of
mere disgust."

" What do you mean by ' near me ' ? "

" Oh, Marie ! will you not understand your Alphonse .'' "

" Ah ! you think you are paying me a great compliment
in offering me your hand and name ? " she said, with affected
scorn, but eyeing the marquis closely to catch his slightest
thoughts. " How do you know whether you would love me
in six months' time.'* And if you did not, what would become
of me ? No, no! a mistress is the only woman who is certain
of the affection which a man shows her ; she has no need to
seek such pitiful allies as duty, law, society, the interests of
children ; and if her power lasts, she finds in it solace and
happiness which make the greatest vexations of life endur-
able. To be your wife, at the risk of one day being a burden
to you ? To such a fear I would prefer a love fleeting, but
true while it lasted, though death and ruin were to come
after it. Yes ! I could well, and even better than another,

3S8

THE CHOUANS.

be a virtuous mother, a devoted wife. But, in order that
such sentiments may be kept up in a woman's heart, a man
must not marry her in a mere gust of passion. Besides, can
I tell myself whether I shall care for you to-morrow ? No !
I will not bring a curse on you ; I will leave

Brittany," said she, perceiving

an air of irresolution in his

looks. " I will return to Paris, and you

will not come to seek me there "

" Well, then ! the day after to-morrow, if in the morning
you see smoke on the rocks of .Saint Sulpice, that evening I
shall be at your house as lover, as husband, whichever you
will. I shall have put all to the touch ! "

" Then, Alphonse, you really love me," she cried with
transport, " that you risk your life thus before you give
it me ? "

He answered not, but looked at her. Her eyes fell : but
he read on the passionate countenance of his mistress a mad-
ness equal to his ov/n, and he held out his arms to her. A

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 359

kind of frenzy seized Marie. She was on the point of falling
in languishment on the marquis's breast, with a mind made
up to complete surrender, so as out of this fault to forge the
greatest of blessings, and to stake her whole future, which, if
she came out conqueror from this last test, she would make
more than ever certain. But her head had scarcely rested
on her lover's shoulder, when a slight noise was heard out-
side. She tore herself from his arms as if suddenly waked
from sleep, and darted from the cabin. Only then could
she recover a little coolness and think of her position.

" Perhaps he would have taken me and laughed at me
afterwards ! " thought she. " Could I believe that, I would
kill him ! But not yet ! " she went on, as she caught sight
of Beau- Pied, to whom she made a sign, which the soldier
perfectly well understood.

The poor fellow turned on his heel, pretending to have
seen nothing, and Mile, de Verneuil suddenly re-entered the
room, begging the young chief to observe the deepest
silence by pressing the first finger of her right hand on her
lips.

" They are there ! " she said, in a stifled voice of terror.

"Who.?"

"The Blues!"

" Ah ! I will not die at least without having "

" Yes, take it "

He seized her cold and unresisting form, and gathered
from her lips a kiss full both of horror and delight, for it
might well be at once the first and the last. Then they
went together to the doorstep, putting their heads in such
a posture as to see all without being seen. The marquis
perceived Gudin at the head of a dozen men, holding the
foot of the Couesnon valley. He turned towards the series
of ichaliers, but the great rotten tree-trunk was guarded by
seven soldiers. He climbed the cider-butt, and drove out

36o THE CHOUANS.

the shingled roof so as to be able to jump on the knoll ;
but he quickly drew his head back from the hole he had
made, for Hulot was on the heights, cutting off the road to
Fougeres. For a moment he stared at his mistress, who
uttered a cry of despair as she heard the tramp of the three
detachments all round the house.

" Go out first," he said : " you will save me."

As she heard these words, to her sublime, she placed
herself, full of happiness, in front of the door, while the
marquis cocked his blunderbuss. After carefully calculating
the distance between the cottage door and the great tree-
trunk, the Gars flung himself upon the seven Blues, sent a
hail of slugs upon them from his piece, and forced his way
through their midst. The three parties hurried down to
the barrier which the chief had leapt, and saw him running
across the field with incredible speed.

"Fire! fire! A thousand devils! are you Frenchmen?
Fire, dogs !" cried Hulot in a voice of thunder.

As he shouted these words from the top of the knoll, his
men and Gudin's delivered a general volley, luckily ill-
aimed. The marquis had already reached the barrier at
the end of the first field : but just as he passed into the
second he was nearly caught by Gudin, who had rushed
furiously after him. Hearing this formidable enemy a few
steps behind, the Gars redoubled his speed. Nevertheless,
Gudin and he reached the bar almost at the same moment :
but Montauran hurled his blunderbuss with such address at
Gudin's head, that he hit him and stopped his career for a
moment. It is impossible to depict the anxiety of Marie,
or the interest which Hulot and his men showed at this
spectacle. All unconsciously mimicked the gestures of the
two runners. The Gars and Gudin had reached, almost
together, the curtain, whitened with hoar-frost, which the little
wood formed, when suddenly the Republican officer started

A DAY WITHOUT A MOJiJiOW. 361

back and sheltered himself behind an apple-tree. A score
of Chouans, who had not fired before for fear of killing
their chief, now showed themselves, and riddled the tree
with bullets. Then all Hulot's little force set off at a run
to rescue Gudin, who, finding himself weaponless, retired
from apple-tree to apple-tree, taking for his runs the inter-
vals when the King's Huntsmen were reloading. His danger
did not last long, for the counter-Chouans and Blues, Hulot
at their head, came up to support the young officer at the
spot where the marquis had thrown away his blunderbuss.
Just then Gudin saw his foe sitting exhausted under one of
the trees of the clump, and, leaving his comrades to exchange
shots with the Chouans, who were ensconced behind the
hedge at the side of the field, he outflanked these, and
made for the marquis with the eagerness of a wild beast.
When they saw this movement, the King's Huntsmen
uttered hideous yells to warn their chief, and then, having
fired on the counter-Chouans with poachers' luck, they tried
to hold their ground against them. But the Blues valiantly
stormed the hedge which formed the enemy's rampart, and
exacted a bloody vengeance. Then the Chouans took to the
road bordering the field in the enclosure of which this
scene had passed, and seized the heights which Hulot had
made the mistake of abandoning. Before the Blues had
had time to collect their ideas, the Chouans had entrenched
themselves in the broken crests of the rocks, under cover of
which they could, without exposing themselves, fire on
Hulot's men if these latter showed signs of coming to attack
them. While the commandant with some soldiers went
slowly towards the little wood to look for Gudin, the
Fougerese stayed behind to strip the dead Chouans and
despatch the living — for in this hideous war neither party
made prisoners. The marquis once in safety, Chouans and
Blues alike recognized the strength of their respective

3 A

362 2 HE CHOUANS.

positions and the uselessness of continuing the strife. Both
therefore thought only of withdrawing.

" If I lose this young fellow," cried Hulot, scanning the
wood carefully, " I will never make another friend."

" Ah ! '' said one of the young men of Fougeres, who
was busy stripping the dead, " here is a bird with yellow
feathers ! "

And he showed his comrades a purse full of gold pieces,
which he had just found in the pocket of a stout man dressed
in black.

"But what have we here?" said another, drawing a
breviary from the dead man's overcoat. " Why, 'tis holy
ware ! He is a priest ! " cried he, throwing the volume down.

" This thief has turned bankrupt on our hands ! " said a
third, finding only two crowns of six francs in the pockets
of a Chouan whom he was stripping.

" Yes ; but he has a capital pair of shoes," answered a
soldier, making as though to take them.

" You shall have them if they fall to your share," replied
one of the Fougerese, plucking them from the dead man's
feet, and throwing them on the pile of goods already heaped
together.

A fourth counter-Chouan acted as receiver of the coin,
with a view to sharing it out when all the men of the
expedition had come together. When Hulot came back
with the young officer, whose last attempt to come up with
the Gars had been equally dangerous and futile, he found a
score of his soldiers and some thirty counter-Chouans
standing round eleven dead enemies, whose bodies had
been thrown into a furrow drawn along the foot of the
hedge.

" Soldiers ! " cried the commandant in a stern voice, " I
forbid you to share these rags. Fall in, and that in less
than no time ! "

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 363

"Commandant," said a soldier to Hulot, pointing to his
own shoes, at whose tips his five bare toes were visible,
" all right about the money, but those shoes, commandant ? "
added he, indicating with his musket-butt the pair of hob-
nails. "Those shoes would fit me like a glove."

" So you want English shoes on your feet ? " answered
Hulot.

" But," said one of the Fougerese, respectfully enough,
" we have always, since the war begun, shared the booty."

" I do not interfere with you other fellows," said Hulot,
interrupting him roughly ; " follow your customs."

" Here, Gudin, here is a purse which is not badly stocked
with louis. You have had hard work : your chief will not
mind your taking it," said one of his old comrades to the
young officer.

Hulot looked askance at Gudin, and saw his face grow
pale.

" 'Tis my uncle's purse," cried the young man; and, dead-
tired as he was, he walked towards the heap of corpses. The
first that met his eyes was in fact his uncle's : but he had
hardly caught sight of the ruddy face furrowed with bluish
streaks, the stiffened arms, and the wound which the gun-
shot had made, than he uttered a stifled cry, and said, " Let
us march, commandant ! "

The troop of Blues set off, Hulot lending his arm to
support his young friend.

" God's thunder ! you will get over that," said the old
soldier.

"But he is dead!" replied Gudin. "Dead! He was
my only relation : and though he cursed me he loved me.
Had the king come back the whole country might have
clamoured for my head, but the old boy would have hid me
under his cassock."

" The foolish fellow!" said the National Guards who had

\

364 THE CHOUANS.

stayed behind to share the spoils. " The old boy was rich :
and things being so, he could not have had time to make a
will to cut Gudin off." And when the division was made
the counter-Chouans caught up the little force of Blues and
followed it at some interval.

As night fell terrible anxiety came upon Galope-Chopine's
hut, where hitherto life had passed in the most careless sim-
plicity. Barbette and her little boy, carrying on their backs,
the one a heavy load of ajoncs, the other a supply of grass
for the cattle, returned at the usual hour of the family even-
ing meal. When they entered the house, mother and son
looked in vain for Galope-Chopine ; and never had the
wretched chamber seemed to them so large as now in its
emptiness. The fireless hearth, the darkness, the silence, all
gave them a foreboding of misfortune. When night came
Barbette busied herself in lighting a bright fire and two
oribiis — the name given to candles of resin in the district
from the shores of Armorica to the Upper Loire, and still
used in the Vendome country districts this side of Amboise.
She went through these preparations with the slowness
naturally affecting action when it is dominated by some deep
feeling. She listened for the smallest noise : but though often
deceived by the whistling squalls of wind, she always re-
turned sadly from her journeys to the door of her wretched
hut. She cleaned two pitchers, filled them with cider, and
set them on the long walnut ' table. Again and again she
gazed at the boy who was watching the baking of the buck-
wheat cakes, but without being able to speak to him. For
a moment the little boy's eyes rested on the two nails which
served as supports to his father's duck-gun, and Barbette
shuddered as they both saw that the place was empty. The

' The table and bench (see below) have been previously described as of
chestnut. It is fair to say that noyer, though specifically = "walnut," is elymo-
logically any nut tree.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

365

silence was broken only by the lowing of the cows or by the
steady drip of the cider drops from the cask-spile. The
poor woman sighed as she got ready in three platters of
brown earthenware a sort of soup composed of milk, cakes
cut up small, and boiled chestnuts.

" They fought in the field that belongs to the Berau- ■
diere," said the little boy.

" Go and look
there," answered
his mother.

The boy ran
thither, perceived
by the moonlight
the heap of dead,
found that his
father was not
amongst them,
and came back
whistling cheer-
fully, for he had
picked up some
five-franc pieces
which had been
trodden under
foot by the vic-
tors, and forgotten in the mud. He found his mother sit-
ting on a stool at the fireside and busy spinning hemp. He
shook his head to Barbette, who hardly dared believe in any
good news : and then, ten o'clock having struck from Saint
Leonard's, the child went to bed, after muttering a prayer to
the Holy Virgin of Auray. At daybreak Barbette, who had
not slept, uttered a cry of joy as she heard, echoing afar off, a
sound of heavy hobnailed shoes which she knew ; and soon
Galope-Chopine showed his sullen face.

•*

366 THE CHOUANS.

" Thanks to Saint Labre, to whom I have promised a fine
candle, the Gars is safe! Do not forget that we owe the
saint three candles now."

Then Galope-Chopine seized a pitcher and drained the
whole of its contents without drawing breath. When his
wife had served up his soup and had relieved him of his duck-
gun, and when he had sat down on the walnut bench, he said,
drawing closer to the fire :

" How did the Blues and the counter-Chouans get here ?
The fighting was at Florigny. What devil can have told
them that the Gars was at our house ? for nobody but himself,
his fair wench, and ourselves knew it."

The woman grew pale " The counter-Chouans per-
suaded me that they were gars of Saint George," said she,
trembling ; " and it was I who told them where the Gars
was."

Galope-Chopine's face blanched in his turn, and he left his
plate on the table-edge.

" I sent the child to tell you," went on Barbette in her
terror; " but he did not meet you."

The Chouan rose and struck his wife so fierce a blow
that she fell half dead on the bed. "Accursed wench," he
said, " you have killed me ! " Then, seized with fear, he
caught his wife in his arms. " Barbette !" he cried, " Bar-
bette ! Holy Virgin ! my hand was too heavy !"

" Do you think," she said, opening her eyes, " that Marche-
a-Terre will come to know of it ? "

" The Gars," answered the Chouan, " has given orders to
inquire whence the treachery came."

" But did he tell Marche-a-Terre ? "

" Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre were at Florigny."

Barbette breathed more freely. "If they touch a hair
of your head," said she, " I will rinse their glasses with
vinegar ! "

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 367

" Ah ! my appetite is gone ! " cried Galope-Chopine sadly.
His wife pushed another full jug in front of him, but he did
not even notice it ; and two great tears furrowed Barbette's
cheek, moistening the wrinkles of her withered face.

" Listen, wife. You must pile some faggots to-morrow
morning on the Saint Sulpice rocks, to the right of Saint
Leonard's, and set fire to them. 'Tis the signal arranged
between the Gars and the old rector of Saint George, who
is coming to say mass for him."

" Is he going to Fougeres, then ? "

" Yes, to his fair wench. I have got some running about
to do to-day by reason of it. I think he is going to marry
her and carry her off, for he bade me go and hire horses
and relay them on the Saint Malo road."

Thereupon the weary Galope-Chopine went to bed for
some hours ; and then he set about his errands. The next
morning he came home, after having punctually discharged
the commissions with which the marquis had intrusted him.
When he learnt that Marche-a-Terre and Pille-Miche had
not appeared, he quieted the fears of his wife, who set out,
almost reassured, for the rocks of Saint Sulpice, where the
day before she had prepared on the hummock facing Saint
Leonard some faggots covered with hoar-frost. She led by
the hand her little boy, who carried some fire in a broken
sabot. Hardly had his wife and child disappeared round
the roof of the shed, when Galope-Chopine heard two men
leaping over the last of the series of barriers, and little by
little he saw, through a fog which was pretty thick, angular
shapes, looking like uncertain shadows.

" *Tis Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre !" he said to him-
self with a start. The two Chouans, who had now reached
the little courtyard, showed their dark faces, resembling
under their great shabby hats the figures that engravers put
into landscapes.

t

368 THE CHOUANS.

" Good day, Galope-Chopine ! " said Marche-a-Terre
gravely.

" Good day, Master Marche-a-Terre," humbly replied
Barbette's husband. " Will you come in and drink a pitcher
or two ? There is cold cake and fresh-made butter."

" We shall not refuse, cousin," said Pille-Miche ; and the
two Chouans entered.

This overture had nothing in it alarming to Galope-
Chopine, who bustled about to fill three pitchers at his
great cask, while Pille-Miche and Marche-a-Terre, seated
at each side of the long table on the glistening benches, cut
the bannocks for themselves, and spread them with luscious
yellow butter, which shed little bubbles of milk under the
knife. Galope-Chopine set the foam-crowned pitchers full
of cider before his guests, and the three Chouans began to
eat : but from time to time the host cast sidelong glances
on Marche-a-Terre, eager to satisfy his thirst.

" Give me your snuff-box," said Marche-a-Terre to Pille-
Miche ; and after sharply shaking several pinches into the
hollow of his hand, the Breton took his tobacco like a man
who wished to wind himself up for some serious business.

"'Tis cold," said Pille-Miche, rising to go and shut the
upper part of the door.

The daylight, darkened by the fog, had no further access
to the room than by the little window, and lighted but
feebly the table and the two benches ; but the fire shed its
ruddy glow over them. At the same moment Galope-
Chopine, who had finished filling his guests' jugs a second
time, set these before them. But they refused to drink,
threw down their flapping hats, and suddenly assumed a
solemn air. Their gestures and the inquiring looks they
cast at one another made Galope-Chopine shudder, and the
red woollen caps which were on their heads seemed to him
as though they were blood. /

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 369

" Brinij us your hatchet," said Marche-a-Terre.

" But, Master Marche-a-Terre, what do you want it for ?"

" Come, cousin," said Pille-Miche, putting up the mull
which Marche-a-Terre handed to him, " you know well
enough. You are sentenced." And the two Chouans rose
together, clutching their rifles.

" Master Marche-a-Terre, I have not said a word about
the Gars "

" I tell you to fetch your hatchet," answered the Chouan.

The wretched Galope-Chopine stumbled against the
rough wood-work of his child's bed, and three five-franc
pieces fell on the floor. Pille-Miche picked them up.

" Aha ! the Blues have given you new coin," cried Marche-
a-Terre.

"'Tis as true as that Saint Labre's image is there,"
replied Galope-Chopine, "that I said nothing. Barbette
mistook the counter-Chouans for the gars of Saint Georges,
that is all."

" Why do you talk about business to your wife .'' "
answered Marche-a-Terre savagely.

" Besides, cousin, we are not asking for explanations, but
for your hatchet. You are sentenced." And at a sign from
his comrade Pille-Miche helped him to seize the victim.
When he found himself in the two Chouans' grasp, Galope-
Chopine lost all his fortitude, fell on his knees, and raised
despairing hands towards his two executioners.

" '^y good friends ! my cousin ! what is to become of my
little boy ? "

" I will take care of him," said Marche-a-Terre.

" Dear comrades," said Galope-Chopine, whose face had
become of a ghastly whiteness, " I am not ready to die.
Will you let me depart without confessing ? You have the
right to take my life, but not to make me forfeit eternal
happiness."

3 B

37° THE C HO VANS.

"'Tis true!" said Marche-a-Terre, looking at Pille-
Miche, and the two Chouans remained for a moment in the
greatest perplexity, unable to decide this case of conscience.
Galope-Chopine listened for the least rustle that the wind
made, as if he still kept up some hope. The sound of the
cider dripping regularly from the cask made him cast a
mechanical look at the barrel and give a melancholy sigh.
Suddenly Pille-Miche took his victim by the arm, drew him
into the corner, and said :

" Confess all your sins to me. I will tell them over to a
priest of the true church : he shall give me absolution : and
if there be penance to do, I will do it for you."

Galope-Chopine obtained some respite by his manner of
acknowledging his transgressions : but despite the length
and details of the crimes, he came at last to the end of the
list.

" Alas!" said he in conclusion, " after all, cousin, since I
am addressing you as a confessor, I protest to you by the
holy name of God that I have nothing to reproach myself
with, except having buttered my bread too much here and
there, and I call Saint Labre, who is over the chimney, to
witness that I said nothing about the Gars. No, my good
friends, I am no traitor ! "

" Go to, cousin, 'tis well ! Get up, you can arrange all
that with the good God at one time or another."

" But let me say one little good-bye to Barbe — "

" Come," answered Marche-a-Terre, " if you wish us not
to think worse of you than is needful, behave like a Breton,
and make a clean end ! "

The two Chouans once more seized Galope-Chopine and
stretched him on the bench, where he gave no other sign of
resistance than the convulsive movements of mere animal
instinct. At the last he uttered some smothered shrieks,
which ceased at the moment that the heavy thud of the axe

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

371

was heard. The head was severed at a single blow.
Marche-a-Terre took it by a tuft of hair, left the room, and,
after searching, found a stout nail in the clumsy framework
of the door, round which he twisted the hair he held, and
left the bloody head hanging there, without even closing the
eyes. Then the two Chouans washed their hands without

the least hurry in a great pan full of water, took up their
hats and their rifles, and clambered over the barrier, whistling
the air of the ballad of The Captain} At the end of the

' This famous folk-song has been Englished by Mr. Swinburne in " May
Janet," and I think by others. It might have been wiser to borrow a ver-
sion from one of these. But silk on homespun is bad heraldry. The follow-
ing is at any rate pretty close, and in verse suiting its neighbour prose.
If the third stanza does not seem clear, I can only say that no one can be
very sure what On lui tendait Us voiles Dans tout le regiment does mean. —
Translator's Note.

372

THE CHOUANS.

field Pille-Miclie shouted in a husky voice some stanzas
chosen by chance from this simple song, the rustic strains of
which were carried afar off by the wind.

" At the first town where they did alight,
Her lover dressed her in satin white.

At the second town, her lover bold

He dressed her in silver and eke in gold.

So fair she was that their stuff they lent
To do her grace through the regiment."

The tune grew slowly indistinct as the two Chouans
retired : but the silence of the country was so deep that
some notes reached the ear of Barbette, who was coming
home, her child in her hand. So popular is this song in the
west of France, that a peasant woman never hears it un-
moved : and thus Barbette unconsciously struck up the first
verses of the ballad :

" Come to the war, come, lairest May,
Come, for we must no longer stay.

Captain brave, take thou no care,
Not for thee is my daughter fair.

Neither on land, nor yet on sea,

Shall aught but treason give her to thee.

The father strips his girl and he
Takes her and flings her into the sea.

But wiser, 1 trow, was the cai)tain stout.
He swims and fetches his lady out.

Come to the war, etc."

At the same moment at which Barbette found herself
catching up the ballad at the point where Pille-Miche had
begun it, she reached her own courtyard : her tongue froze
to her mouth, she stood motionless, and a loud shriek, sud-
denly checked, issued from her gaping lips.

" What is the matter, dear mother ? " asked the child.

A baV without a morrow.

373

"' Go by yourself," muttered Barbette, drawing her hand
from his, and pushing him forward with strange, roughness.
" You are fatherless and motherless now ! "

The child rubbed his shoulder as he cried, saw the head
nailed on the door, and his innocent countenance speechlessly

kept the nervous twitch which ,

tears give to the features. He opened

his eyes wide and gazed long at his

father's head with a stolid and passionless

( expression, till his face, brutalized by ignorance,

changed to the exhibition of a kind of savage

curiosity. Suddenly Barbette caught hier child's hand

once more, squeezed it fiercely, and drew him with rapid

steps towards the house. As Pille-Miche and Marche-

a-Terre were stretching Galope-Chopine on the bench, one

of his .shoes had fallen off under his neck in such a fashion

that it was filled with his blood : and this was the first

object that the widow saw.

"Take your sabot off!" said the mother to the son.
" Put your foot in there. 'Tis well ! And now," said she,

374 THE CHOUANS.

in a hollow voice, " remember always this shoe of your
father's ! Never put shoe on your own foot without thinking
of that which was full of blood shed by the Chuins : and
kill the Chuins ! "

As she spoke, she shook her head with so spasmodic a
movement that the tresses of her black hair fell back on her
neck, and gave a sinister look to her face.

"I call Saint Labre to witness," she went on, "that I
devote you to the Blues. You shall be a soldier that you
may avenge your father. Kill the Chuins I Kill them,
and do as I do! Ha! they have taken my husband's head:
I will give the head of the Gars to the Blues ! "

She made one spring to the bed-liead, took a little bag of
money from a hiding-place, caught once more the hand of
her astonished son, and dragged him off fiercely without
giving him time to replace his sabot. They both walked
rapidly towards Fougeres without turning either of their
heads to the hut they were leaving. When they arrived at
the crest of the crags of Saint Sulpice, Barbette stirred the
^faggot-fire, and the child helped to heap it with green broom
shoots covered with rime, so that the smoke might be
thicker,

" That will last longer than your father's life, than mine,
or than the Gars ! " said Barbette to her boy, pointing
savagely to the fire.

At the same moment as that at which Galope-Chopine's
widow and his son with the Bloody Foot were watching the
eddying of the smoke with a gloomy air of vengeance and
curiosity. Mile, de Verneuil had her eyes fixed on the same
rock, endeavouring, but in vain, to discover the marquis's
promised signal. The fog, which had gradually thickened,
buried the whole country under a veil whose tints of grey
hid even those parts of the landscape which were nearest to
the town. She looked by tqrns with an anxiety which did

A DAY WITHOUT A MOKJiOW.

375

not lack sweetness, to the rocks, the castle, the buildings which
seemed in the fog like patches of fog blacker still. Close to
her window some trees stood out of the blue-grey back-
ground like madrepores of which the sea gives a
glimpse when it is calm. The sun communicated to
the sky the dull tint of tarnished silver, while its rays
tinted with dubious red the naked branches of the
trees, on which some belated leaves still hung. \-y

But Marie's soul was too delightfully
agitated for her to see any evil
omens in the spectacle, out of 'i;k^^^^O\ f(.

harmony as it was with
the joy on which she
was banqueting in an-
ticipation. During tha
last two days her ideas

had altered strangely. The ferocity, the disorderly bursts,
of her passion had slowly undergone the influence of that
equable warmth which true love communicates to life. The
certainty of being loved — a certainty after which she had
quested through so many dangers — had produced in her the
desire of returning to those conventions of society which
sanction happiness, and which she had herself only aban-
doned in despair. A mere moment of love seemed to her a
futility. And then she saw herself suddenly restored from

376 THE CHOUANS.

the social depths where she had been phinged by misfortune
to the exalted rank in which for a brief space her father had
placed her. Her vanity, which had been stifled under the
cruel changes of a passion by- turns fortunate and slighted,
woke afresh, and showed her all the advantages of a hieh
position. Born as she had been to be " her ladyship,"
would not the effect of marrying Montauran be for her
action and life in the sphere which was her own .-* After
having known the chances of a wholly adventurous life, she
could, better than another woman, appreciate the greatness
of the feelings which lie at the root of the family relation.
Nor would marriage, motherhood, and the cares of both be
for her so much a task as a rest. She loved the calm and
virtuous life, a glimpse of which opened across this latest
storm, with the same feeling which makes a woman virtuous
to satiety cast longing looks on an illicit passion. Virtue
was for her a new allurement.

" Perhaps," she said, as she came back from the window
without having seen fire on the rocks of Saint Sulpice, " I
have trifled with him not a little ? But have I not thus
come to know how much I was loved ? Francine ! 'tis no
more a dream ! This night I shall be Marquise de Mont-
auran ! What have I done to deserve such complete happi-
ness ? Oh ! I love him : and love alone can be the price of
love. Yet God, no doubt, deigns to reward me for having
kept my heart warm in spite of so many miseries, and to
make me forget my sufferings. For you know, child, I have
suffered much ! "

" To-night, Marie .'* You Marquise de Montauran ? For
my part, till it is actually true, I shall think I dream. Who
told him all your real nature ? "

" Why, dear child, he has not only fine eyes, but a soul
too ! If you had' seen him, as I have, in the midst of danger !
Ah ! he must know how to love well, he is so brave ! '

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 2.II

•' If you love him so much, why do you allow him to
come to Fougeres ? "

" Had we a moment to talk together when they took us
by surprise ? Besides, is it not a proof of his love ? And
can one ever have enough of that ? Meanwhile, do my
hair."

But she herself, with electric movements, disarrangfed a
hundred times the successful arrangements of her head-
dress, mingling thoughts which were still stormy with the
cares of a coquette. While adding a fresh wave to her
hair, or making its tresses more glossy, she kept asking
herself, with remains of mistrust, whether the marquis was
not deceiving her; and then she concluded that such
trickery would be inexplicable, since he exposed himself
boldly to immediate vengeance by coming to seek her at
Fougeres. As she studied cunningly at her glass the
effects of a sidelong glance, of a smile, of a slight con-
traction of the forehead, of an attitude of displeasure, of
love, or of disdain, she was still seeking some woman's
wile to test the young chiefs heart up to the very last
moment.

" You are right, Francine ! " she said. " I would, like
you, that the marriage were over. This day is the last of
my days of cloud— it is big either with my death or with
our happiness. This fog is hateful," she added, looking
over towards the still mist-wrapped summits of Saint
Sulpice. Then she set to work to arrange the silk and
muslin curtains which decked the window, amusing herself
with intercepting the light, so as to produce in the apart-
ment a voluptuous clear-obscure.

" Francine," said she, " take these toys which encumber
the chimney-piece away, and leave nothing there but the
clock and the two Dresden vases, in which I will myself
arrange the winter flowers that Corentin found for me. Let

3^

378 THE C HO VANS.

all the chairs go out, I will have nothing here but the sofa
and one armchair. When you have done, child, you shall
sweep the carpet, so as to bring out the colour of it : and
then you shall put candles into the chimney sconces and the
candlesticks."

Marie gazed long and attentively at the old tapestry
which covered the walls of the room. Led by her native
taste, she succeeded in finding, amid the warp, bright
shades of such tints as might establish connection be-
tween this old-world decoration and the furniture and
accessories of the boudoir, either by harmony of colours or
by attractive contrasts. The same principle guided her in
arranging the flowers with which she filled the twisted
vases that adorned the room. The sofa was placed near
the fire. At each side of the bed, which stood by the wall
parallel to that where the fireplace was, she put, on two
little gilt tables, great Dresden vases full of foliage and
flowers which exhaled the sweetest perfumes. She shivered
more than once as she arranged the sweeping drapery of
green damask that overhung the bed, and as she studied
the curving lines of the flowered coverlet wherewith she
hid the bed itself. Preparations of this kind always have
an indefinable secret joy, and bring with them so delightful
a provocative that ofttimes in the midst of such provision
of delight a woman forgets all her doubts, as Mile, de
Verneuil was then forgetting hers. Is there not a kind of
religion in this abundant care taken for a beloved object
who is not there to see it or reward it, but who is to pay
for it later with the smile of approbation, which graceful pre-
parations of this kind, always so well understood, obtain ?
Then, so to speak, do women yield themselves up before-
hand to love : and there is not one who does not say to
herself, as Mile, de Verneuil thought, " To-night how happy
I shall be!" The most innocent of them at these times

A DAY WITHOVT A MORROW.

379

inscribes this sweet hope in the innermost folds of muslin
or of silk, and then the harmony which she establishes
around her insensibly stamps all things with a love-breath-
ing look. In the centre of this
voluptuous atmosphere, things be-
come for her living beings, witnesses ;
and already she transforms them
into accomplices of her coming
joys. At each movement, at
each thought, she is bold
to rob the future. Soon
she waits no more, she
hopes no more, but she
finds fault with silence,
and the least noise is
challenged to give her
an omen, till at last
doubt comes and places
its crooked claws on her
heart. She burns, she
is agitated, she feels
herself tortured by
thoughts which exert
themselves like purely
physical forces : by
turns she triumphs and

is martyred, after a fashion which, but for the hope of
joy, she could not endure. Twenty times had Mile, de
Verneuil lifted the curtains in hopes of seeing a pillar of
smoke rising above the rocks : but the fog seemed to grow
greyer and greyer each moment, and in these grey tints her
fancy at last showed her sinister omens. F'inally, in a
moment of impatience, she dropped the curtain, assuring
herself that she would come and lift it no more. She

38o THE CHOUANS.

looked discontentedly at the room into which she had
breathed a soul and a voice, and asked herself whether it
would all be in vain. The thought recalled her to her
arrangements.

" Little one," she said to Francine, drawing her into a
dressing-room close to her own, and lighted by a round
window, giving upon the dark corner where the town
ramparts joined the rocks of the Promenade, " put this right,
and let all be in order. As for the drawing-room, you can
leave it untidy if you like," she added, accompanying her
words by one of those smiles which women reserve for their
intimates, and the piquant delicacy of which men can never
know.

'■ Ah, how beautiful you are ! " said the little Breton girl.

" Why, fools that we all are, is not a lover always our
greatest adornment ? "

Francine left her lying languidly on the ottoman, and
withdrew step by step, guessing that whether she were
loved or not, her mistress would never give up Montauran.

" Are you sure of what you are telling me, old woman ? "
said Hulot to Barbette, who had recognized him as she
entered Fougeres.

" Have you got eyes ? Then, my good sir, look at the
rocks of Saint Sulpice ; there, to the right of Saint Leonard !"

Corentin turned his eyes towards the summit in the
direction in which Barbette's finger pointed : and as the fog
began to lift, he was able to see clearly enough the pillar
of white smoke of which Galope-Chopine's widow had
spoken.

" But when will he come ? eh, old woman ? Will it be at
even, or at night ? "

" Good sir," answered Barbette, " I know nothing of
that." ■

A da\ without a morrow.

381

" Why do you betray your own side?" said Hulot quickly,
after drawing the peasant woman some steps away from
Corentin.

" Ah ! my lord general, look at my boy's
foot ! Well ! it is dyed in the blood of my
husband, killed by __<"

the C/iuins, saving
your reverence, like
a calf, to punish him
for the word or two
you got out of me
the day before yes-
terday when I was
at work in the field.
Take my boy, since
you have deprived
him of father and
mother : but make
him a true
Blue, good
sir ! and
let him
kill many
Chuins. There
are two hundred

crowns, keep them for him : if he is careful, he should go far
with them, since his father took twelve years to get them
together."

Hulot stared with wonder at the pale and wrinkled peasant
woman, whose eyes were tearless.

" But, mother," said he, "how about yourself? What is to
become of you ? It would be better for you to keep this
money."

" For me," she said sadly, shaking her head ; " 1 have no

J. ^% yiU'-^-*—

382 THE CHOUANS.

more need of anything. You might stow me away in the
innermost corner of Melusine's tower," and she pointed to
one of the castle turrets, " but the Chuins would find the way
to come and kill me."

She kissed her boy with an expression of gloomy sorrow,
gazed at him, shed a tear or two, gazed at him once more,
and disappeared.

"Commandant," said Corentin, "this is one of those oppor-
tunities to profit by which needs rather two good heads than
one. We know all, and we know nothing. To surround
Mile, de Verneuil's house at this moment would be to set her
against us : and you, I, your counter-Chouans, and your
two battalions all put together are not men enough to fight
against this girl if she takes it into her head to save her
ci-devant. The fellow is a courtier, and therefore wary : he is
a young man, and a stout-hearted one. We shall never be
able to catch him at his entry into Fougeres. Besides, he is
very likely here already. Are we to search the houses ?
That would be futile : for it tells you nothing, it gives the
alarm, and it disquiets the townsfolk "

" I am going," said Hulot, out of temper, " to order the
sentinel on guard at Saint Leonard to lengthen his beat by
three j)aces, so that he will come in front of Mile, de Ver-
neuil's house. I shall arrange a signal with each sentry : I
shall take up my own post at the guard-house : and when
the entrance of any young man is reported to me I shall
take a corporal with four men, and "

" And," said Corentin, interrupting the eager soldier,
"what if the young man is not the marquis ? if the marquis
does not enter by the gate ? if he is already with Mile, de
Verneuil ? if if -? "

And with this Corentin looked at the commandant with
an air of superiority which was so humiliating that the old
warrior cried out, "A thousand thunders ! go about your own

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 383

business, citizen of hell ! What have I to do with all
that ? If the cockchafer drops into one of my guard-houses,
I must needs shoot him : if I hear that he is in a house I
must needs go and surround him, catch him, and shoot him
there. But devil take me if I puzzle my brains in order to
stain my own uniform ! "

" Commandant, letters signed by three ministers bid you
obey Mile, de Verneuil."

" Then, citizen, let her come herself and order me. I will
see what can be done then."

" Very well, citizen," replied Corentin haughtily. " She
shall do so without delay. She shall tell you herself the very
hour and minute of the ci-devant' s arrival. Perhaps, indeed,
she will not be at ease till she has seen you posting your
sentinels and surrounding her house."

" The devil has turned man!" said the old demi-brigadier
sorrowfully to himself as he saw Corentin striding hastily
up the Queen's Staircase, on which this scene had passed,
and reaching the gate of Saint Leonard. " He will hand
over Citizen Montauran to me bound hand and foot,"
went on Hulot, talking to himself; "and I shall have the
nuisance of presiding over a court-martial. After all," said
he, shrugging his shoulders, " the Gars is an enemy of the
Republic ; he killed my poor Gerard, and it will be at worst
one noble the less. Let him go to the devil ! " And he turned
briskly on his boot-heel, and went the rounds of the town
whistling the Marseillaise.

Mile, de Verneuil was deep in one of those reveries whose
secrets remain as it were buried in the abysses of the soul,
and whose crowd of contradictory thoughts often show their
victims that a stormy and passionate life may be held between
four walls, without leaving the couch on which existence is
then passed. In presence of the catastrophe of the drama
which she had come to seek, the girl summoned up before

384 THE CHOUANS.

her by turns the scenes of love and anger which had so
powerfully agitated her life during the ten days that had
passed since her first meeting with the marquis. As she did
so the sound of a man's step echoed in the saloon beyond her
apartment : she started, the door opened, she turned her
head sharply, and saw — Corentin.

" Little traitress ! " said the head-agent of police ; " will
the fancy take you to deceive me again ? Ah, Marie,
Marie ! You are playing a very dangerous game in leaving
me out of it, and arranging your coups without consulting
me ! If the marquis has escaped his fate "

" It is not your fault, you mean ? " answered Mile, de
Verneuil, with profound sarcasm. "Sir!" she went on in
a grave voice, " by what right have you once more entered
my house ? "

" Your house ? " asked he, with bitter emphasis.

" You remind me," replied she, with an air of nobility,
"that I am not at home. Perhaps you intentionally chose
this house for the safer commission of your murders here ? I
will leave it: I would take refuge in a desert rather than any
longer receive "

" Say the word — spies ! " retorted Corentin. " But this
house is neither yours nor mine : it belongs to Government :
and as to leaving it, you would do nothing of the kind,"
added he, darting a devilish look at her.

Mile, de Verneuil rose in an impulse of wrath, and made
a step or two forwards : but she stopped suddenly as she
saw Corentin lift the window curtain and begin to smile as
he requested her to come close to him.

" Do you see that pillar of smoke ? " said he, with the
intense calm which he knew how to preserve on his pallid
face, however deeply he was moved.

"What connection can there be between my departure
and the weeds that they are burning there ? " asked she.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 385

"Why is your voice so changed in tone?." answered
Corentin. "Poor h'ttle girl!" he added gently, " I know all.
The marquis is coming to-day to Fougeres, and it is not
with the intention of giving him up to us that you have
arranged this boudoir, these flowers, these wax-lights, in so
luxurious a fashion."

Mile, de Verneuil grew pale as she saw the marquis's
death written in the eyes of this tiger with a human counte-
nance : and the passion which she felt for her lover rose near
madness. Every hair of her head seemed to pour into it a
fierce and intolerable pain, and she fell upon the ottoman.
Corentin stood for a minute with his arms folded, half-pleased
at a torture which avenged him for the sarcasm and scorn
which this woman had heaped on him, half-vexed at seeing
the sufferings of a creature whose yoke, heavy as it might be,
always had something agreeable.

" She loves him ! " muttered he.

" Love him?" cried she, "what does that word mean?
Corentin ! he is my life, my soul, the breath of my being."
She flung herself at the feet of the man, whose calm was
terrible to her.

" Soul of mud ! " she said, " I would rather abase myself
to gain his life than to lose it. I would save him at the
price of every drop of my blood ! Speak ! What will you
have ? "

Corentin started.

" I came to put myself at your orders, Marie," he said, the
tones of his voice full of gentleness, and raising her up with
graceful politeness. " Yes, Marie ! your insults will not
hinder me from being all yours, provided that you deceive
me no more. You know, Marie, that no man fools me with
impunity."

" Ah ! if you would have me love you, Corentin, help me
to save him ! "

3 D

386 THE C HO VANS.

" Well, at what hour does the marquis come ? " said he,
constraining himself to make the inquiry in a calm tone.

" Alas ! I know not."

They gazed at each other without speaking.

" I am lost!" said Mile, de Verneuil to herself.

" She is deceiving me," thought Corentin. " Marie," he
continued aloud, " I have two maxims : the one is, never to
believe a word of what women say, which is the way not to
be their dupe ; the other is, always to inquire whether they
have not some interest in doing the contrary of what they
say, and behaving in a manner the reverse of the actions
which they are good enough to confide to us. I think we
understand each other now .'' "

" Excellently," replied Mile, de Verneuil. " You want
proofs of my good faith : but I am keeping them for the
minute when you shall have given me some proofs of yours."

" Good-bye, then, mademoiselle," said Corentin drily.

" Come," continued the girl, smiling, " take a chair. Sit
there and do not sulk, or else I shall manage very well to
save the marquis without you. As for the three hundred
thousand francs, the prospect of which is always before your
eyes, I can tell them out for you in gold there on the
chimney-piece the moment that the marquis is in safety."

Corentin rose, fell back a step or two, and stared at Mile.
de Verneuil.

" You have become rich in a very short time," said he, in
a tone the bitterness of which was still disguised.

" Montauran," said Marie, with a smile of compassion,
" could himself offer you much more than that for his
ransom, so prove to me that you have the means of holding
him scatheless, and "

" Could not you," said Corentin suddenly, " let him
escape the same moment that he comes ? For Hulot does
not know the hour and "

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

387

He stopped as if he reproached himself with having said
too much.

" But can it he.yoti who are applying to mc for a device,''
he went on, smiling in the most natural manner. " Listen^
Marie ! I am convinced of your sincerity. Promise to
make me amends for all that I lose in your service, and I
will lull the blockhead of a commandant to sleep so neatly
that the marquis will enjoy as much liberty at Fougeres as
at Saint James."

" I promise you ! " re-
plied the girl with a kind
of solemnity.

" Not in that
way," said he.
"Swear it by your
mother."

Mile, de Ver-
neuil started : but
raising a trem-
bling hand, she
gave the oath de-
manded by this
man, whose manner had just changed so suddenly.

"You can do with me as you will," said Corentin.
not deceive me, and you will bless me this evening."

" I believe you, Corentin ! " cried Mile, de Verneuil, quite
touched.

She bowed farewell to him with a gentle inclination of
her head, and he on his side smiled with amiability, mingled
with surprise, as he saw the expression of tender rnelancholy
on her face.

"What a charming creature!" cried Corentin to himself
as he departed. " Shall I never possess her and make her
at once the instrument of my fortune and the source of my

7i..»<,--K

Do

388 THE CHOUANS.

pleasures ? To think of her throwing herself at my feet !
Oh, yes ! the marquis shall perish ; and if I cannot obtain
the girl except by plunging her into the mire, I will plunge
her. Anyhow," he thought, as he came to the square
whither his steps had led him without his own knowledge,
" perhaps she really distrusts me no longer. A hundred
thousand crowns at a moment's notice ! She thinks me
avaricious. Either it is a trick, or she has married him
already."

Corentin, lost in thought, could not make up his mind to
any certain course of action. The fog, which the sun had
dispersed towards midday, was regaining all its force by
degrees, and became so thick that he could no longer make
out the trees even at a short distance.

" Here is a new piece of ill-luck," said he to himself, as he
went slowly home. " It is impossible to see anything half-
a-dozen paces off. The weather is protecting our lovers.
How is one to watch a house which is guarded by such a
fog as this ? Who goes there ? " cried he, clutching the
arm of a stranger who appeared to have escaladed the Pro-
menade across the most dangerous crags.

" ' Tis I," said a childish voice simply.

"Ah ! the little boy Redfoot. Don't you wish to avenge
your father ? " asked Corentin.

" Yes ! " said the child.

" 'Tis well. Do you know the Gars .-' "

"Yes."

" Better still. Well, do not leave me. Do exactly what-
soever I tell you, and you will finish your mother's work
and gain big sous. Do you like big sous ? "

" Yes."

" You like big sous and you want to kill the Gars ? I
will take care of you. Come, Marie," said Corentin to him-
self after a pause, "you shall give him up to us yourself!

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 389

She is too excitable to judge calmly of the blow I am going
to deal her : and besides, passion never reflects. She does
not know the marquis's handwriting, so here is the moment
to spread a net for her into which her character will make
her rush blindly. But to assure the success of my trick I
have need of Hulot, and I must hasten to see him."

At the same time Mile, de Verneuil and Francine were
debating the means of extricating the marquis from the
dubious generosity of Corentin and the bayonets of Hulot.

" I will go and warn him," said the Breton girl.

"Silly child! do you know where he is? Why I, with
all my heart's instinct to aid me, might search long without
meeting him."

After having devised no small number of the idle pro-
jects which are so easy to carry out by the fireside, Mile, de
Verneuil cried, " When I see him, his danger will inspire
me !

Then she amused herself, like all ardent spirits, with the
determination not to resolve till the last moment, trusting
in her star, or in that instinctive address which seldom
deserts women. Never, perhaps, had her heart throbbed
so wildly. Sometimes she remained as if thunderstruck,
with fixed eyes : and then, at the least noise, she quivered
like the half-uprooted trees which the wood-cutter shakes
strongly with a rope to hasten their fall. Suddenly a
violent explosion, produced by the discharge of a dozen
guns, echoed in the distance : Mile, de Verneuil turned
pale, caught Francine's hand, and said to her :

" I die : they have killed him ! "

The heavy tread of a soldier was heard in the saloon, and
the terrified Francine rose and ushered in a corporal. The
Republican, after making a military salute to Mile, de
Verneuil, presented to her some letters written on not very
clean paper. The soldier, receiving no answer from the

39° THE CHOUANS.

young lady, withdrew, observing, " Madame, 'tis from the
commandant."

Mile, de Verneuil, a prey to sinister forebodings, read the
letter, which seemed to have been hastily written by Hulot :

" ' Mademoiselle, my counter-Chouans have seized one of
the Gars's messengers, who has just been shot. Among
the letters found on him, that which I enclose may be of
some concern to you, etc' "

" Thank heaven ! 'tis not he whom they have killed,"
cried she, throwing the letter into the fire.

She breathed more freely, and greedily read the note
which had been sent her. It was from the marquis, and
appeared to be addressed to Madame du Gua :

" ' No, my angel, I shall not go to-night to the Vive-
tiere. To-night you will lose your wager with the count,
and I shall triumph over the Republic in the person
of this delicious girl, who, you will agree, is surely worth
one night. 'Tis the only real advantage that I shall reap
from this campaign, for La Vendee is submitting. There
is nothing more to do in France ; and, of course, we shall
return together to England. But to-morrow for serious
business ! ' "

The note dropped from her hands : she closed her ej'es,
kept the deepest silence, and remained leaning back, her
head resting on a cushion. After a long pause she raised
her eyes to the clock, which marked the hour of four.

" And monsieur keeps me waiting!" she said with savage
irony.

" Oh ! if he only would not come ! " cried Francine.

" If he did not come," said Marie in a stifled voice, " I
would go myself to meet him ! But no ! he cannot be long
now. Francine, am I very beautiful ? "

" You are very pale."

" Look ! " went on Mile, jde Verneuil, " look at this per-

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 391

fumed chamber, these flowers, these hghts, this intoxicating
vapour ! Might not all this give a foretaste of heaven to
him whom to-night I would plunge in the joys of love ? "

" What is the matter, mademoiselle ? "

" I am betrayed, deceived, abused, tricked, cheated,
ruined ! And I will kill him ; I will tear him in pieces.
Why, yes ! there was always in his manner a scorn which he
hid but ill, and which I did not choose to see. Oh ! it will
kill me ! Fool that I am," said she, with a laugh. "He
comes ! I have the night in which to teach him that, whether
I be married or no, a man who has once possessed me can
never abandon me ! I will suit my vengeance to his offence,
and he shall die despairing ! I thought he had some great-
ness in his soul : but doubtless 'tis a lackey's son. Assuredly
he was clever enough in deceiving me, for I still can hardly
believe that the man who was capable of handing me over
without compassion to Pille-Miche could descend to a trick
worthy of Scapin. 'Tis so easy to dupe a loving woman,
that it is the basest of coward's deeds ! That he should kill
me, well and good ! That he should lie, he whom I have
exalted so high ! To the scaffold ! To the scaffold ! Ah !
1 would I could see him guillotined ! And am I after all
so very cruel ? He will die covered with kisses and
caresses which will have been worth to him twenty years
of life ! "

" Marie," said Francine, with an angelic sweetness, " be
your lover's victim, as so many others are : but do not make
yourself either his mistress or his executioner. Keep his
image at the bottom of your heart, without making it a
torture to yourself. If there were no joy in hopeless love,
what would become of us, weak women that we are ? That
God, Marie, on whom you never think, will reward us for
having followed our vocation on earth — our vocation to love
and to suffer ! "

392

THE tHOUANS.

" Kitten ! " answered Mile, de Verneuil, patting Fran-
cine's hand. "Your voice is very sweet and very seductive.
Reason is attractive indeed in your shape. I would I could
obey you."

" You pardon him ? You would not give him up ? "
" Silence ! Speak to me no more of that man. Com-
pared with him, Corentin is a
noble being. Do you under-
stand me ? "

She rose, hiding under
a face of hideous calm both
the distraction which seized
her and her inextin-
guishable thirst of
vengeance. Her gait,
slow and measured, an-
nounced a certain irre-
vocableness of resolve.
A prey to thought,
devouring the insult,
and too proud to con-
fess the least of her
torments, she went to
the picket at the gate of Saint Leonard to ask where
the commandant was staying. She had hardly left her
house when Corentin entered it.

" Oh, Monsieur Corentin ! " cried Francine, " if you are

interested in that young man, save him ! Mademoiselle is

going to give him up. This wretched paper has ruined all ! "

Corentin took the letter carelessly, asking, " And where

has she gone ? "

" I do not know."

" I will hasten," said he, " to save her from her own
despair."

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 393

He vanished, taking the letter with him, left the house
(juickly, and said to the little boy who was playing before
the door, " Which way did the lady who has just come out
go?

Galope-Chopine's son made a step or two with Corentin
to show him the steep street which led to the Porte Saint
Leonard. " That way," said he, without hesitation, obeying
the instinct of vengeance with which his mother had in-
spired his heart.

At the same moment four men in disguise entered Mile.
de Verneuil's house without being seen either by the little
boy or by Corentin.

" Go back to your post," said the spy. " Pretend to
amuse yourself by twisting the shutter latches : but keep
a sharp look-out and watch everything, even on the house-
tops.

Corentin darted quickly in the direction pointed out by
the boy, thought he recognized Mile, de Verneuil through
the fog, and actually caught her up at the moment when
she reached the guard at Saint Leonard's.

" Where are you going.''" said he, holding out his arm.
"You are pale. What has happened? Is it proper for
you to go out alone like this ? Take my arm."

" Where is the commandant ? " asked she.

Mile, de Verneuil had scarcely finished the words when
.she heard the movement of a reconnoitring party outside
Saint Leonard's Gate, and soon she caught Hulot's deep
voice in the midst of the noise. " God's thunder ! " cried
he, " I never saw darker weather than this to make rounds
in. The ci-devant has the clerk of the weather at his
orders."

"What are you grumbling at?" answered Mile, de Ver-
neuil, pressing his arm hard. " This fog is good to cover
vengeance as well as perfidy. Commandant," added she, in

3E

394 THE CHOUANS.

a low voice, " the question is how to concert measures with
me so that the Gars cannot escape to-day."

"Is he at your house?" asked Hulot, in a voice the
emotion of which showed his wonder.

" No," she answered. " But you must give me a trusty
man, and I will send him to warn you of the marquis's
arrival."

" What are you thinking of ? " said Corentin eagerly, to
Marie. "A soldier in your house would alarm him : but
a child (and I know where to find one) will inspire no dis-
trust."

" Commandant," went on Mile, de Verneuil, " thanks to
the fog you are cursing you can surround my house this
very moment. Set soldiers everywhere. Place a picket in
Saint Leonard's church to make sure of the esplanade on
which the windows of my drawing-room open. Post men
on the Promenade, for though the window of my room is
twenty feet above the ground, despair sometimes lends men
strength to cover the most dangerous distances. Listen ! I
shall probably send this gentleman away by the door of my
house : so be sure to give none but a brave man the duty of
watching it, for," said she, with a sigh, " no one can deny
him courage, and he will defend himself! "

" Gudin ! " cried the commandant, and the young Fou-
gerese started from the midst of the force which had come
back with Hulot, and which had remained drawn up at
some distance.

" Listen, my boy," said the old soldier to him in a low
voice. " This brimstone of a girl is giving up the Gars to
us. I do not know why, but that does not matter : it is no
business of ours. Take ten men with you and post yourself
so as to watch the close at the end of which the girl's house
is : but take care that neither you nor your men are seen."
" Yes, commandant : I know the ground."

A BAy WITHOUT A MORROW.

395

"'Well, my boy," went on Hulot, " Beau-Pied shall come
and tell you from me when you must draw fax. Try to
get up with the marquis yourself and kill him if you can :
so that I may not have to shoot him by form of law. You

"-H....II,

shall be lieutenant in a fortnight, or my name is not Hulot.
Here, mademoiselle, is a fellow who will not shirk," said he
to the young lady, pointing to Gudin. " He will keep good
watch before your house, and if the ci-devant comes out or
tries to get in, he will not miss him."

Gudin went off with half a score of soldiers.

" Are you quite sure what you are doing .'' " whispered

396 THE C HO VANS.

Corentin to Mile, de Verneuil. She answered him not, but
watched with a kind of satisfaction the departure of the men
who, under the sub-Heutenant's orders, went to take up their
post on the Promenade, and of those who, according to
Hulot's instructions, posted themselves along the dark walls
of Saint Leonard's.

" There are houses adjoining mine," she said to the com-
mandant. " Surround them too. Let us not prepare regret
for ourselves by neglecting one single precaution that we
onght to take."

" She has gone mad !" thought Hulot.

" Am I not a prophet ? " said Corentin in his ear. " The
child 1 mean to send into the house is the little boy Bloody
Foot, and so "

He did not finish. Mile, de Verneuil had suddenly sprung
towards her house, whither he followed her, whistling cheer-
fully, and when he caught her up she had already gained
the door, where Corentin also found Galope-Chopine's son.

" Mademoiselle," said he to her, "take this little boy with
you. You can have no more unsuspicious or more active
messenger. When " (and he breathed as it were in the
child's ear) " you see the Gars come in, whatever they tell
you, run away, come and find me at the guard-house, and I
will give you enough to keep you in cakes for the rest of
your life."

The youthful Breton pressed Corentin's hand hard at
these words, and followed Mile, de Verneuil.

" Now, my good friends !" cried Corentin, when the door
shut, "come to an explanation when you like ! If you make
love now, my little marquis, it will be on your shroud ! "

But then, unable to make up his mind to lose sight of the
fateful abode, he directed his steps to the Promenade, where
he found the commandant busy in giving some orders.
Soon night fell : and two hours passed without the different

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 397

sentinels who were stationed at short distances perceiving
anything which gave suspicion that the marquis had crossed
the triple line of watchful lurkers who beset the three
accessible sides of the Papegaut's Tower. A score of times
Corentin had gone from the Promenade to the guard-house :
as often his expectation had been deceived, and his youthful
emissary had not come to meet him. The spy, lost in
thought, paced the Promenade, a victim to the tortures
of three terrible contending passions, love, ambition, and
greed. Eight struck on all the clocks. The moon rose
very late, so that the fog and the night wrapped in ghastly
darkness the spot where the tragedy devised by this man
was about to draw to its catastrophe. The agent of police
managed to stifle his passions, crossed his arms tightly on
his breast, and never turned his eyes from the window which
rose like a phantom of light above the tower. When his
steps led him in the direction of the glens which edged the
precipice, he mechanically scrutinized the fog which was
furrowed by the pale glow of some lights burning here and
there in the houses of the town and suburbs above and
below the rampart. The deep silence which prevailed was
only disturbed by the murmur of the Nanqon, by the
mournful peals from the belfry at intervals, by the heavy
steps of the sentinels, or by the clash of arms as they came,
hour after hour, to relieve iruard. Mankind and nature alike
— all had become solemn.

It was ju.st at this time that Pille-Miche observed, " It is
as black as a wolfs throat ! "

" Get on with you ! " answered Marche-a-Terre, " and
don't speak any more than a dead dog does ! "

" I scarcely dare draw my breath," rejoined the Chouan.

" If the man who has just displaced a stone wants my
knife sheathed in his heart, he has only got to do it again,"

398

THE CHOUANS.

whispered Marche-a-Terre in so low a voice that it blended
with the ripple of the Nan^on waters.

" But it was me,"
said Pille-Miche.

" Well, you old
money-bag," said the
leader, " slip along
on your belly like a
snake, or else we
shall leave our car-
casses here before
the time ! "

" I say, Marche-a-
Terre ! " went on
the incorrigible Pille-
Miche, helping him-
self with his hands to
hoist himself alongr
on his stomach and
reach the level where
was his comrade,
into whose ear he
whispered, so low
that the Chouans
who followed them
could not catch a syllable,
" I say, Marche-a-Terre !
ifwemaytrustourGrande-
Garce, there must be famous
booty up there ! Shall we two share ? "
"Listen, Pille-Miche!" said Marche-a-Terre, halting,
still flat on his stomach : and the whole body imitated his
movement, so exhausted were the Chouans by the diffi-
culties which the scarped rock offered to their progress.

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 399

"1 know you," went on Marche-a-Terre, "to be one of
those honest Jack Take-alls who are quite as ready to give
blows as to receive them when there is no other choice.
We have not come here to put on dead men's shoes : we
are devil against devil, and woe to those who have the
shortest nails. The Grande-Garce has sent us here to
save the Gars. Come, lift your dog's face up and look at
that window above the tower! He is there."

At the same moment midnight struck. The moon rose
and gave to the fog the aspect of a white smoke. Pille-
Miche clutched Marche-a-Terre's arm violently, and, with-
out speaking, pointed to the triangular steel of some glancing
bayonets ten feet above them.

" The Blues are there already," said he, " we shall do
nothing by force."

" Patience ! " answered Marche-a-Terre, " if I examined
the whole place rightly this morning we shall find at the
foot of the Papegaut's Tower, between the ramparts and the
Promenade, a little space where they constantly store manure,
and on which a man can drop from above as on a bed."

"If Saint Labre," said Pille-Miche, "would graciously
change the blood which is going to flow into good cider, the
men of Fougeres would find store of it to-morrow ! "

Marche-a-Terre covered his friend's mouth with his broad
hand. Then a caution, given under his breath, ran from file
to file to the very last Chouan who hung in the air, clinging
to the briars of the schist. Indeed, Corentin's ear was too
well trained not to have heard the rustle of some bushes
which the Chouans had pulled about, and the slight noise
of the pebbles rolling to the bottom of the precipice, stand-
ing as he did on the edge of the esplanade. Marche-a-
Terre, who seemed to possess the gift of seeing in the
dark, or whose senses, from their continual exercise, must
have acquired the delicacy of those of savages, had caught

400 THE CHOUANS.

sight of Corentin. Perhaps, like a well-broken dog, he had
even scented him. The detective listened in vain through
the silence, stared in vain at the natural wall of schist: he
could discover nothing there. If the deceptive glimmer of
the fog allowed him to perceive some Chouans, he took
them for pieces of rock, so well did these human bodies
preserve the air of inanimate masses. The danger which
the party ran was of brief duration. Corentin was drawn
off by a very distinct noise which was audible at the other
end of the Promenade, where the supporting wall ceased
and the rapid slope of the cliff began. A path traced along
the border of the schist, and communicating with the
Queen's Staircase, ended exactly at this meeting-place.
As Corentin arrived there he saw a figure rise as if by
magic, and when he put out his hand to grasp this form —
of whose intentions, whether it was real or fantastic, he did
not augur well — he met the soft and rounded outlines of
a woman.

" The deuce take you, my good woman ! " .said he in a
low tone, " if you had met anyone but me, you would have
been likely to get a bullet through your head ! But whence
do you come, and whither are you going at such an hour as
this ? Are you dumb ?

" It is really a woman, though," said he to himself.

As silence was becoming dangerous, the stranger replied,
in a tone which showed great fright, " Oh ! good man, I be
coming back from the veilUey '

" 'Tis the marquis's pretended mother," thought Corentin.
" Let us see what she is going to do."

" Well, then, go that way, old woman," he went on aloud,

' There is, I believe, more than one local name for this ( = " evening
party, half for work and half for amusement ") in English dialects. But
the only one known to literary English is " wake," which has too special and
lugubrious a meaning. — Translator S Note.

A DAY niTHOUT A MORROW. 401

and pretending not to recognize her, " Keep to the left if
you don't want to get shot."

He remained where he was : but as soon as he saw
Madame du Gua making her way to the Papegaut's Tower,
he followed her afar off with devilish cunning. During this
fatal meeting the Chouans had very cleverly taken up their
position on the manure heaps to which Marche-a-Terre had
guided them.

" Here is the Grande-Garce ! " whispered Marche-a-
Terre, as he rose on his feet against the tower, just as a
bear might have done. " We are here ! " said he to the
lady.

"Good!" answered Madame du Gua. "If you could
find a ladder in that house where the garden ends, six feet
below the dunghill, the Gars would be .saved. Do you see
that round window up there ? It opens on a dressing-room
adjoining the bed-room, and that is where you have to go.
The side of the tower at the bottom of which you are, is
the only one not watched. The horses are ready : and if
you have made sure of the passage of the Nanqon, we shall
get him out of danger in a quarter of an hour, for all his
madness. But if that .strumpet wants to come with him,
poniard her ! "

When Corentin saw that .some of the indistinct shapes
which he had at first taken for stones were cautiously
moving, he at once went off to the guard at the Porte
Saint Leonard, where he found the commandant, asleep,
but fully dressed, on a camp-bed.

'• Let him alone ! " said Beau-Pied rudely to Corentin,
" he has only just lain down there."

" The Chouans are here ! " cried Corentin into Hulot's ear.

" It is impossible : but so much the better ! " cried the
commandant, dead-asleep as he was. " At any rate we
shall have some fighting."

402 THE CHOUANS.

When Hulot arrived on the Promenade, Corentin showed
him in the gloom the strange position occupied by the
Chouans. " They must have eluded or stifled the sentinels
I placed between the Queen's Staircase and the castle," cried
the commandant. " Oh, thunder ! What a fog ! But
patience ! I will send fifty men under a lieutenant to the
foot of the rock. It is no good attacking them where they
are, for the brutes are so tough that they would let them-
selves drop to the bottom of the precipice like stones, with-
out breaking a limb."

The cracked bell of the belfry was sounding two when
the commandant came back to the Promenade after taking-
the strictest military precautions for getting hold of the
Chouans commanded by Marche-a-Terre. By this time,
all the guards having been doubled, Mile, de Verneuil's
house had become the centre of a small army. The com-
mandant found Corentin plunged in contemplation of the
window which shone above the Papegaut's Tower.

•'Citizen," said Hulot to him, "1 think the ci-devant is
making fools of us, for nothing has stirred."

" He is there ! " cried Corentin, pointing to the window,
" 1 saw the shadow of a man on the blind. But I cannot
understand what has become of my little boy. They must
have killed him or gained him over. Why, commandant,
there is a man for you ! Let us advance ! "

" God's thunder! " cried Hulot, who had his own reasons
for waiting, " I am not going to arrest him in bed ! If he
has gone in he must come out, and Gudin will not miss
him."

"Commandant, I order you in the name of the law to-
advance instantly upon this house ! "

" You are a pretty fellow to think you can set me
going ! "

But Corentin, without disturbing himself at the com-

A DAY WITHOUT A MONRO IV. 403

mandant's wrath, said coolly, " You will please to obey me.
Here is an order in regular form, signed by the- Minister of
War, which will oblige you to do so," he continued, draw-
ing a paper from his pocket. " Do you fancy us fools
enough to let that girl do as she pleases ? 'Tis a civil war
that we are stifling, and the greatness of the result excuses
the meanness of the means."

" I take the liberty, citizen, of bidding you go and

you understand me ? Enough ! Put your left foot fore-
most, leave me alone, and do it in less than no time ! "
" But read," said Corentin.

" Don't bother me with your commissions !" cried Hulot,
in a rage at receiving orders from a creature whom he held
so despicable. But at the same moment Galope-Chopine's
son appeared in their midst, like a rat coming out of the
ground.

" The Gars is on his way ! " he cried.
" Which way ? "
" By Saint Leonard's Street."

" Beau- Pied," whispered Hulot in the ear of the corporal
who was near him, " run and tell the lieutenant to advance
on the house, and keep up some nice little file-firing ! You

understand ? File to the left and march on the tower,

you there ! " he cried aloud.

In order perfectly to comprehend the catastrophe, it is
necessary now to return with Mile, de Verneuil to her
house. When passion comes to a crisis, it produces in us
an intensity of intoxication far above the trivial stimulus of
opium or of wine. The lucidity which ideas then acquire,
the delicacy of the over-excited senses, produce the strangest
and the most unexpected effects. When they find themselves
under the tyranny of a single thought, certain persons clearly
perceive things the most difficult of perception, while the
most palpable objects are for them as though they did not

404

THE CHOUANS.

exist. Mile, de Verneuil was suffering from this kind of
intoxication, which turns real life into something resembling
the existence of sleep-walkers, when, after reading the
marquis's letter, she eagerly made all arrangements to

+U.,ll.

prevent his escaping her vengeance, just as, but the moment
before, she had made every preparation for the first festival
of her love. But when she saw her house carefully sur-
rounded, by her own orders, with a triple row of bayonets,
her soul was suddenly enlightened. She sat in judgment
on her own conduct, and decided, with a kind of horror, that
what she had just committed was a crime. In her first

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 405

moment of distress she sprang towards the doorstep and
stood there motionless for an instant, endeavouring to
reflect, but unable to bring any reasoning process to a con-
clusion. She was so absolutely imcertain what she had just
done, that she asked herself why she was standing in the
vestibule of her own house, holding a strange child by the
hand. Before her eyes thousands of sparks danced in the
air like tongues of fire. She began to walk in order to
shake off the hideous stupor which had enveloped her, but
like a person asleep, she could not realize the true form or
colour of any object. She clutched the little boy's hand
with a violence foreign to her usual nature, and drew him
along with so rapid a step that she seemed to possess the
agility of a madwoman. She saw nothing at all in the
drawing-room as she crossed it, and yet she received there
the salutes of three men, who drew aside to make way for
her.

" Here she is ! " said one.

" She is very beautiful," cried the priest.

" Yes," answered the first speaker, " but how pale and
agitated she is ! "

" And how absent ! " said the third. " She does not
see us."

At her own chamber door Mile, de Verneuil perceived the
sweet and joyful face of Francine, who whispered in her
ear: " He is there, Marie!"

Mile, de Verneuil roused herself, was able to collect her
thoughts, looked at the child whose hand she held, and
answered Francine : " Lock this little boy up somewhere,
and if you wish me to live, take good care not to let him
escape."

As she slowly uttered these words she had been fixing
her eyes on the chamber door, on which they remained
glued with so terrible a stillness that a man might have

4o6 THE CHOUANS.

thouQ^ht she saw her victim throufjh the thickness of the
panels. She gently pushed the door open, and shut it
without turning her back, for she perceived the marquis
standing in front of the fireplace. The young noble's dress,
without being too elaborate, had a certain festal air of
ornament, which heightened the dazzling effect that
lovers produce on women. As she saw this, Mile, de
Verneuil recovered all her presence of mind. Her lips —
strongly set though half open— exhibited the enamel of her
white teeth, and outlined an incomplete smile, the expres-
sion of which was one of terror rather than of delight. She
stepped slowly towards the young man, and pointing with
her finger towards the clock :

" A man who is worth loving is worth the trouble of
waiting for him," said she with feigned gaiety.

And then, overcome by the violence of her feelings, she
sank upon the sofa which stood near the fireplace.

" Dearest Marie, you are very attractive when you are
angry ! " said the marquis, seating himself beside her, taking
a hand which she abandoned to him, and begging for a
glance which she would not give. " I hope," he went on
in a tender and caressing tone, " that Marie will in a
moment be vexed with herself for having hidden her face
from her fortunate husband."

When she heard these words she turned sharply, and
stared him straight in the eyes.

" What does this formidable look mean ? " continued he,
laughing. " But your hand is on fire, my love ; what is the
matter ? "

" Your love } " she answered in a broken and stifled
tone.

" Yes ! " said he, kneeling before her and seizing both
her hands, which he covered with kisses. "Yes, my love!
I am yours for life ! "

A BAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 407

She repulsed him violently and rose ; her features were
convulsed, she laughed with the laugh of a inaniac, and
said : " You do not mean a word you say ! O, man more
deceitful than the lowest of criminals ! " She rushed to the
dagger which lay by a vase of flowers, and flashed it within
an inch or two of the astonished young man's breast.

" Bah ! " she said, throwing it down, " I have not respect
enough for you to kill you. Your blood is even too vile to
be shed by soldiers, and I see no fit end for you but the
hangman ! "

The words were uttered with difficulty in a low tone, and
she stamped as she spoke, like an angry spoilt child. The
marquis drew near her, trying to embrace her.

" Uo not touch me ! " she cried, starting back with a
movement of horror.

"She is mad!" said the marquis despairingly to himself.

" Yes ! " she repeated, " mad ! but not mad enough yet to
be your plaything ! What would I not pardon to passion ?
But to wish to possess me without loving me, and to write
as much to that "

"To whom did I write ?" asked he, with an astonishment
which was clearly not feigned.

" To that virtuous woman who wanted to kill me ! "

Then the marquis turned pale, grasped the back of the
armchair on which he leant so fiercely that he broke it, and
cried, " If Madame du Gua has been guilty of any foul
trick !"

Mile, de Verneuil looked for the letter, found it not, and
called P"rancine. The Breton girl came.

" Where is the letter ? "

" Monsieur Corentin took it."

" Corentin ! Ah, I see it all ! He forged the letter and
deceived me, as he does deceive, with the fiend's own
art!"

4o8 THE CHOUANS.

Then uttering a piercing shriek, she dropped on the sofa
to which she staggered, and torrents of tears poured from
her eyes. Doubt and certainty were equally horrible. The
marquis flung himself at his mistress's feet and pressed her
to his heart, repeating a dozen times these words, the only
ones he could utter :

" Why weep, my angel ? Where is the harm ? Even
your reproaches are full of love ! Do not weep ! I love
you ! I love you for ever ! "

Suddenly he felt her embrace him with more than human
strength, and heard her amidst her sobs say, " You love me
still?"

"You doubt it?" he answered in a tone almost melan-
choly.

She disengaged herself sharply from his arms, and fled,
as if frightened and confused, a pace or two from him : " Do
I doubt it ? " she cried.

But she saw the marquis smile with such sweet sarcasm
that the words died on her lips. She allowed him to take
her hand and lead her to the threshold. Then Marie saw
at the end of the saloon an altar, which had been hurriedly
arranged during her absence. The priest had at that
moment arrayed himself in his sacerdotal vestments; lighted
tapers cast on the ceiling a glow as sweet as hope ; and she
recognized in the two men who had bowed to her the Count
de Bauvan and the Baron du Guenic, the two witnesses
chosen by Montauran.

" Will you again refuse me ? " whispered the marquis to
her.

At this spectacle she made one step back so as to regain
her chamber, fell on her knees, stretched her hands towards
the marquis, and cried : "Oh, forgive me! forgive! forgive!"

Her voice sank, her head fell back, her eyes closed, and
she remained as if lifeless irt the arms of the marquis and

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

409

of Francine. When she opened her eyes again she met those
of the young chief, full of loving kindness :

" Patience, Marie ! This storm is the last," said he.
" The last ! " she repeated.

Francine and the marquis looked at each other in
astonishment, but she bade them be silent
b)- a gesture.

;i.,,-r/u.-^ "Call the priest," she said, "and

leave me alone with him."
They withdrew.

"Father! " she said to the priest, who suddenly appeared
before her. " Father ! in my childhood an old man, white-
haired like yourself, frequently repeated to me that, with
a lively faith, man can obtain everything from God. Is
this true ? "

" It is true," answered the priest. " Everything is pos-
sible to Him who has created everything."

3G

4IO THE CHOUANS.

Mile, de Verneuil threw herself on her knees with
wonderful enthusiasm. " Oh, my God ! " said she in her
ecstasy, " my faith in Thee is equal to my love for him !
Inspire me now : let a miracle be done, or take my life ! "

" Your prayer will be heard," said the priest.

Then Mile, de Verneuil presented herself to the gaze of
the company, leaning on the arm of the aged white-haired
ecclesiastic. Now, when her deep and secret emotion gave
her to her lover's love, she was more radiantly beautiful
than she had ever been before, for a serenity resembling
that which painters delight in imparting to martyrs stamped
on her face a character of majesty. She held out her hand
to the marquis, and they advanced together to the altar, at
which they knelt down. This marriage, which was about
to be celebrated but a few steps from the nuptial couch, the
hastily-erected altar, the cross, the vases, the chalice
brought secretly by the priest, the incense smoke eddying
round cornices which had as yet seen nothing but the steam
of banquets, the priest vested only in cassock and stole,
the sacred tapers in a profane saloon, composed a strange
and touching scene which may give a final touch to our
sketch of those times of unhappy memory, when civil
discord had overthrown the most holy institutions. Then
religious ceremonies had all the attraction of mysteries.
Children were baptized in the chambers where their
mothers still groaned. As of old, the Lord came in sim-
plicity and poverty to console the dying. Nay, young girls
received the Holy Bread for the first time in the very place
where they had played the night before. The union of the
marquis and Mile, de Verneuil was about to be hallowed,
like many others, by an act contravening the new legisla-
tion : but later, these marriages, celebrated for the most part
at the foot of the oak trees, were all scrupulously legalized.
The priest who thus kept up the old usages to the last

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 411

moment was one of those men who are faithful to their
principles through the fiercest of the storm. His voice,
guiltless of the oath which the Republic had exacted,
uttered amidst the tempest only words of peace. He did
not, as Abbe Gudin had done, stir the fire of discord.
But he had, with many others, devoted himself to the
dangerous mission of performing the rites of the priest-
hood for the Catholic remnant of souls. In order to
succeed in this perilous ministry, he employed all the pious
artifices which persecution necessitates : and the marquis
had only succeeded in discovering him in one of the lurking-
places which even in our days bear the name of Priests'
Holes. The mere sight of his pale and suffering face had
such power in inspiring devotion and respect, that it was
enough to give to the worldly drawing-room the air of a
holy place. All was ready for the act of misfortune and of
joy. Before beginning the ceremony, the priest, amid
profound silence, asked the name of the bride.

" Marie Nathalie, daughter of Mademoiselle Blanche de
Casteran, deceased, sometime abbess of our Lady of Seez,
and of Victor Amadeus, Duke of Verneuil."

•' Born ? "

" At La Chasterie, near Alenqon."

" I did not think," whispered the baron to the count,
" that Montauran would be silly enough to marry her. A
duke's natural daughter ! Fie! fie!"

" Had she been a king's it were a different thing,"
answered the Count de Bauvan with a smile. " But I am
not the man to blame him. The other pleases me : and it
is with ' Charette's Filly,' as they call her, that I shall
make my campaign. She is no cooing dove."

The marquis's name had been filled in beforehand : the
two lovers signed, and the witnesses after them. The
ceremony began, and at the same moment Marie, and she

412 THE CHOUANS.

alone, heard the rattle of the guns and the heavy, measured
tramp of the soldiers, who, no doubt, were coming to relieve
the guard of Blues that she had had posted in the church.
She shuddered, and raised her eyes to the cross on the
altar.

" She is a saint at last ! " murmured Francine.

And the count added under his breath : " Give me saints
like that, and I will be deucedly devout ! "

When the priest put the formal question to Mile, de
Verneuil, she answered with a " Yes ! " followed by a deep
sigh. Then she leant towards her husband's ear, and said
to him :

" Before long you will know why I am false to the oath I
took never to marry you."

When, after the ceremony, the company had passed into
a room where dinner had been served, and at the very
moment when the guests were taking their places, Jeremy
entered in a state of alarm. The poor bride rose quickly,
went, followed by Francine, to meet him, and with one of
the excuses which women know so well how to invent,
begged the marquis to do the honours of the feast by him-
self for a short time. Then she drew the servant aside
before he could commit an indiscretion, which would have
been fatal.

"Ah! Francine. To feel oneself dying and not to be
able to say ' I die ! ' " cried Mile, de Verneuil, who did not
return to the dining-room.

Her absence was capable of being interpreted on the
score of the just concluded rite. At the end of the meal,
and just as the marquis's anxiety had reached its height,
Marie came back in the full gala costume of a bride. Her
face was joyous and serene, while Francine, who was with
her, showed such profound alarm in all her features that the
guests thought they saw in the two countenances some

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW.

413

eccentric picture where the wild pencil of Salvator Rosa
had represented Death and Life hand in hand.

" Gentlemen," said she to the priest, the baron, and the
count, " you must be my guests this night : for you would
run too much risk in
trying to leave Foi
geres. My good ma
has her orders, ar
will guide each of yc
to his apartment. N
mutiny ! " said she I
the priest, who was
about to speak.
" I hope you
will not dis-
obey a lady's
orders on the
day of her
marriage."

An hour la-
ter she found
herself alone
with her lover *^'
in the volup-
tuous chamber wl
had arranged so grace-
fully. They had come at last to that fateful couch where
so many hopes are shattered as though at a tomb, where
the chance of waking to a happy life is so doubtful, where
true love dies or is born, according to the strength of the
character, which is only there truly tested. Marie looked
at the clock, and said to herself, " six hours more to live ! "

" What ! I have been able to sleep ! " she cried towards

414 THE CHOUANS.

morning, as she awoke with a start in one of those sudden
movements which disturb us when we have arranged with
ourselves to wake next day at a certain time. " Yes ! I
have slept," she repeated, seeing by the glimmer of the
candles that the clock hand would soon point to the hour of
two in the morning.

She turned and gazed at the marquis, who was asleep,
his head resting on one hand, as children sleep, while with
the other hand he clasped his wife's, a half-smile on his face
as though he had slumbered in the midst of a kiss.

" Ah ! " she whispered, " he sleeps like a child ! But how
could he mistrust me, me who owe him ineffable happi-
ness i

She touched him gently ; he woke and finished the smile.
Then he kissed the hand he held, and gazed at the un-
happy woman with such fire in his eyes, that unable to bear
their passionate blaze, she slowly dropped her ample eye-
lids, as if to forbid herself a dangerous spectacle. But as
she thus veiled the ardour of her own glances, she so pro-
voked desire in the act of seeming to thwart it, that but for
the depth of the fear which she tried to hide, her husband
might have accused her of excess of coquetry. Both at the
same time raised their gracious heads, and still full of the
pleasures they had enjoyed, exchanged signs of gratitude.
But the marquis, after rapidly examining the exquisite
picture which his wife's face presented, attributing to some
melancholy thought the cloud which shadowed Marie's
brows, said gently to her :

" Why this shadow of sadness, love ? "

" Poor Alphonse ! Whither do you think I have brought
you ? " asked she, trembling.

" To happiness "

" To death ! "

And with a shudder of horror she sprang out of bed. The

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 415

astonished marquis followed her, and his wife drew him
close to the window, after making a frantic gesture, which
escaped him. Marie drew the curtain, and pointed out to
him with her finger a score of soldiers on the square. The
moon which had chased away the fog cast its white light on
the uniforms, the guns, the impassive figure of Corentin, who
paced to and fro like a jackal waiting for his prey, and the
commandant, who stood motionless, his arms crossed, his
face lifted, his lips drawn back, ill at ease and on the watch.

" Well, Marie ! never mind them, but come back ! "

" Why do you smile, Alphonse ? 'Twas / who placed
them there ! "

" You are dreaming ! "

" No 1 "

They looked at each other for a moment : the marquis
guessed all, and, clasping her in his arms, said :

" There ! I love you still ! "

"Then all is not lost!" cried Marie. "Alphonse," she
said, after a pause, " there is still hope ! "

At this moment they distinctly heard the low owl's hoot,
and Francine came suddenly out of the dressing-room.
" Pierre is there ! " she cried with a joy bordering on deli-
rium. Then she and the marchioness dressed Montauran
in a Chouan's garb with the wonderful rapidity which belongs
only to women. When the marchioness saw her husband
busy loading the weapons which Francine had brought, she
slipped out deftly, after making a sign of intelligence to her
faithful Breton maid. Then Francine led the marquis to
the dressing-room which adjoined the chamber ; and the
young chief, seeing a number of sheets strongly knotted
together, could appreciate the careful activity with which the
girl had worked to outwit the vigilance of the soldiers.

" I can never get through there," said the marquis, scan-
ning the narrow embrasure of the ceil-de-baeuf.

4it6 THE CHOUANS.

But at the same moment a huge dark face filled its oval, and
a hoarse voice, well known to Francine, cried in a low tone :

" Be quick, general ! Thege toads of Blues are stirring."

" Oh ! one kiss more ! " said a sweet quivering voice.

The marquis, whose foot was already on the ladder of
deliverance, but a part of whose body was still in the loop-
hole, felt himself embraced despairingly. He uttered a cry
as he perceived that his wife had put on his own garments.
He would have held her, but she tore herself fiercely from
his arms, and he found himself obliged to descend. He
held a rag of stuff in his hand, and a sudden gleam of moon-
light coming to give him light, he saw that the fragment was
.part of the waistcoat he had worn the night before.

" Halt ! Fire by platoons ! "

These words uttered by Hulot in the midst of a silence
which was terrifying, broke the spell that seemed to reign
over the actors and the scene. A salvo of bullets coming
from the depths of the valley to the foot of the tower
succeeded the volleys of the Blues stationed on the Pro-
menade. The Republican fire was steady, continuous, un-
pitying : but its victims uttered not a single cry, and between
each volley the silence was terrible.

Still Corentin, who had heard one of the aerial forms
which he had pointed out to the commandant falling from
the upper part of the ladder, suspected some trick.

" Not one of our birds sings," said he to Hulot. "Our
two lovers are quite capable of playing some trick to amuse
us here, while they are perhaps escaping by the other
side."

And the spy, eager to clear up the puzzle, sent Galope-
Chopine's son to fetch torches.

Corentin's suggestion was so well understood by Hulot
that the old soldier, attentive to the noise of serious fight-
ing in front of the guard at Saint Leonard's, cried, " 'Tis

A DAY WITHOUT A MORROW. 417

true, there cannot be two of them." And he rushed towards
the guard-house.

" We have washed his head with lead, commandant," said
Beau-Pied, coming to meet him. " But he has killed Gudin
and wounded two men. The madman broke through three
lines of our fellows, and would have gained the fields but for
the sentinel at the Porte Saint Leonard, who skewered him
with his bayonet."

When he heard these words, the commandant hurried into
the guard-house, and saw on the camp-bed a bleeding form
which had just been placed there. He drew near the seem-
ing marquis, raised the hat which covered his face, and
dropped upon a chair.

" I thought so ! " he cried fiercely, folding his arms.
" Holy thunder ! she had kept him too long ! "

None of the soldiers stirred. The commandant's action
had displaced the long black hair of a woman, which fell
down. Then suddenly the silence was broken by the tramp
of many armed men. Corentin entered the guard -house in
front of four soldiers carrying Montauran, both whose legs
and both whose arms had been broken by many gunshots,
on a bier formed by their guns. The marquis was laid
on the camp-bed by the side of his wife, saw her, and
summoned up strength enough to clutch her hand con-
vulsively. The dying girl painfully turned her head, re-
cognized her husband, shuddered with a spasm horrible
to see, and murmured these words in an almost stifled
voice :

" A Day Without a Morrow ! God has heard my
prayer too well ! "

" Commandant," said the marquis, gathering all his
strength, but never quitting Marie's hand, " I count on
your honour to announce my death to my younger brother,
who is at London. Write to him not to bear arms against

% II

418 THE C HO VANS

France, if he would obey my last words, but never to
abandon the king's service."

" It shall be done," said Hulot, pressing the dying man's
hand.

" Take them to the hospital there ! " cried Corentin.

Hulot seized the spy by his arm so as to leave the
mark of the nails in his flesh, and said, "As your task is
done here, get out ! and take a good look at the face of
Commandant Hulot, so as to keep out of his way, unless
you want him to sheath his toasting-iron in your belly ! "

And the old soldier half drew it as he spoke.

" There is another of your honest folk who will never
make their fortune ! " said Corentin to himself when he was
well away from the guard-house.

The marquis had still strength to thank his foe by moving
his head, as a mark of the esteem which soldiers have for
generous enemies.

In 1 82 7, an old man, accompanied by his wife, was bargain-
ing for cattle on the market-place of Fougeres, without
anybody saying anything to him, though he had killed more
than a hundred men. They did not even remind him of his
surname of Marche-a-Terre. The person to whom the writer
owes much precious information as to the characters of this
story saw him leading off a cow with that air of simplicity and
probity as he went which makes men say, " That is an honest
fellow ! "

As for Cibot, called Pille-Miche, his end is already known.
It may be that Marche-a-Terre made a vain attempt to save
his comrade from the scaffold, and was present on the square
of Alenqon at the terrible riot which was one of the incidents
of the famous trial of Rifoel, Briond, and La Chanterie.

JiU..,i:.

CIIISWICK I'KF.SS: — C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT,
CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.

\

-^

PQ
2163
C5E5
1890
cop. 2

Balzac, HonorS de
The Chouans

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